The Chatty Mercenary Escort
Grinning to himself, Yoahim returned to the inn and headed straight to his room. As soon as he lay down on the hard bed, sleep washed over him like a wave, and he drifted off in no time. He slept like the dead until morning, without a single dream.
"Yawn."
Stretching as he woke, Yoahim slowly sat up in bed. Sleeping on a stiff wooden frame with just thin bedding—no mattress in sight—had left his body aching all over. It was a cheap inn, so there was no helping it, but it might as well have been the floor. The only difference was the roof overhead.
He glanced out the window; it was still dim twilight. Dawn was breaking soon, though. Yoahim grabbed his bag and left the room. He woke the sleepy maid and asked her to prepare breakfast. Grumbling and rubbing her eyes, she perked up at the tip he handed over and dashed to the kitchen.
"Breakfast is served."
What passed for morning fare was a cup of warmed milk, a slice of bread, and a bowl of leftover stew from last night. Still, Yoahim, who had skipped dinner and woken up starving, devoured it all with relish. After paying, as he headed for the door, the maid asked,
"Leaving already?"
"Yeah, long road ahead."
"Where to?"
"The mage tower."
"That's far. Safe travels."
Yeah. Yoahim gave a casual nod, pushed open the door, and stepped outside.
The mercenaries from yesterday were clustered around the wagons, chatting idly. As Yoahim approached, the one he'd spoken to earlier greeted him.
"Up early. The caravan master mentioned you. You're riding with us, right?"
"That's right. Nice to meet you. Name's Yoahim."
It would take two days to reach Haesen. Better to get friendly with these guys now—no harm in it. After he introduced himself first, the others followed suit one by one. Yoahim snuck a glance at their heads. Levels 15 to 18. Not bad.
Once everyone had shared their names, the first guy spoke last. "Good to meet you, Yoahim. I'm Ronin, leader of this mercenary band. Just so we're clear: since you're joining the caravan as a merc, you'll follow my orders."
Yoahim stared at Ronin. Angular face, sturdy build, piercing eyes. He had the look of someone who could lead roughnecks like these. Coming on strong to establish hierarchy right away was a bit annoying, but Yoahim decided to play along. No point in a pissing contest with people he'd only see for a couple days.
"Got it. Looking forward to working with you, Ronin."
"Follow my orders, and you won't run into any real trouble. The caravan master's coming out soon—rest till then."
Instead of replying, Yoahim glanced at Ronin's head. Level 20. Not super strong, not weak either—just average. Not enough to lord it over him. Yoahim nodded instead of smirking and leaned against the wagon, zoning out.
It was still early morning; his breath fogged faintly with each exhale. Rubbing his hands and blowing on them for warmth, he spotted the caravan master approaching. The man stroked his usual bushy beard and said to Ronin,
"Everyone here? Ready to roll?"
"Of course, sir. Let's go."
There were two wagons. Ronin, the caravan master, and one merc took the first; Yoahim and the other four took the second. They weren't riding, though. Mercs walked alongside, guarding against bandits.
The senior merc after Ronin took the rear. Yoahim and three others split left and right, two each side. Yoahim paired with a guy named Ethan on the right. Tall and lanky, with a long horse-like face thanks to his protruding jaw. His mouth kept twitching—he looked itching to talk.
Great, a motormouth. Yoahim tried ignoring him, but as the wagons started moving, the chatter exploded.
"Hey. I'm Ethan, from Mobella Village. Way east of here. Tried farming as a kid, following my old man, but it wasn't for me. Snuck out. Farming's boring as hell—you till, sow, weed, harvest, repeat every year."
"……."
"Work your ass off, pay the lord's taxes, and what's left ain't much. Might as well be a merc—dangerous, but pays better. You know the drill. Let me guess: you ran from the farm life too, right? Became a merc?"
Sorry, I was a Korean salaryman dreaming of smashing keyboards into my boss's skull during overtime marathons. Shut up if you don't know. Yoahim swallowed the urge to snap. No point—they'd just call him crazy. But Ethan took the silence as agreement.
He laughed. "Knew it. We're too young for plowing fields anyway. Heading to the mage tower, huh? Why? You a wizard? Nah, doesn't fit. Learning magic? I dreamed of being one once. No talent, though. Would've made bank—no need for merc work. Mages earn more. Some mercs are mages, but I don't get it. I'd hole up under some lord, safe and steady."
I don't get your nonstop yapping even more. Yoahim gauged his patience.
"You've hunted monsters, right? What've you bagged? Goblins? Kobolds? Those stinky little shits are a pain—always in packs. What else? That's it? Rookie. Real mercs face all kinds."
Yoahim clicked his tongue in disbelief. This weakling acting superior.
Ethan leaned in, whispering, oblivious. "Know the green mushroom monsters in Erkal Swamp? Secret: great for stamina. For real."
That'll give you ED, dumbass.
"Stung by a twin-tailed scorpion in Baran Desert? You see ghosts."
That's hallucinations before you die, idiot.
"Real secret—just between us. Full moon, bowl of water by the bed. Sexy babe in your dreams... ahem, hard to explain, but waking up heavy but feeling great..."
Succubus drained you dry, moron. This guy's got nothing right. Yoahim sighed. "……Ease up on that shit. You'll die young."
"Huh? Why? It's killer!"
"Not 'killer'—it'll actually kill you."
Ethan tsked, not getting it. "Still green, kid. Rookies don't get adult fun."
Stabbing temptation rising. Yoahim gripped his sword hilt quietly. Ethan kept blabbing, but Yoahim tuned him out. The others heard too but said nothing—probably knew from experience it was pointless.
"Halt! Halt! We'll camp here tonight!"
Ronin's shout stopped the wagons. They'd left Serina Village at dawn and marched till dusk. Lunch was on the go. Legs heavy after half a day nonstop—expected. Mercs scattered: firewood, scouting threats.
Yoahim joined in gathering wood unasked. When unsure, mimic the group—you're halfway there.
"Who's cooking tonight?"
"Miller."
"Fuck, better starve."
"Complain? Cook yourself, asshole."
"Kidding, Miller."
The mercs laughed, built a fire, started cooking. Pot from the wagon, water from a stream. Merc stew: chop everything, boil. Tasty enough with all the ingredients. Even chatty Ethan shut up eating. Yoahim wolfed it down, free at last. Food he'd scorn in his old world? Here, eat anything edible. Skip today, starve tomorrow—that was this world's harsh truth.
"Meals done—personal time, then night watch rotation. I'm on horse duty first."
"C'mon, boss. You too."
"Mad? You lead. Winner takes it."
Yoahim idly gripped his hilt, listening. I could kill him.
"Tch. Gather up. Rock-paper-scissors for watch."
They huddled, played rounds. Yoahim drew second. Short sleep, but better than odd hours. One issue, though.
"Whoa, fate. I'm first, you're next. Keep me company? I'll return the favor."
Hearing Ethan, Yoahim forced sleep. Body tired, but that light voice chased it away. Shut up so I can sleep.
He squeezed his eyes shut, tossing. Ethan blabbed on, oblivious. Punch him quiet? Yoahim clenched a fist, rolled again.
Rustle.
Hm? Thought it animal at first. Too cautious, unnatural for beast.
Rustle rustle. Faint, only his sharp ears caught it. Something approaching.
Why? Traveler seeking firelight? Another rustle. Then clink—metal on metal.
No way. Yoahim sat up slowly. Ethan lit up. "Oh, company? Thanks. When you're on watch—"
"Shut up."
"Huh? Uh?"
Yoahim drew his sword swift as Ethan panicked, eyes squeezed shut. "H-Huh?!"
Dumb yelp. Shing—sharp ring. Sword deflected arrow, which thunked into ground, feathers quivering with momentum.
Yoahim shrugged. "Didn't hear the arrow? That's why shut up."
"Wh-What? Arrow? Fuck!"
Ethan got it, drawing his weapon and jumping up. Yoahim kicked a sleeping merc's ass hard. "Wake up! Ambush!"