Chapter 58
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 58
Chapter Title: Warm Wine
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Warm Wine
“You should have told me you were coming.”
The broadsword at his hip was the same brutish one he used to carry, but unlike the usual greasy sheen it always had, it now looked dry and coarse.
Looking at him, I slowly dredged up my memories.
His specialty was his monstrous strength, said to be the best, and his innate combat prowess. The number of imperial bastards whose heads he'd smashed could fill more than a battalion.
I sat across from him and gestured to Hana behind me. Everyone, go upstairs.
As if understanding, Hana sent Refrigerator, the Three Stooges, and Laundry Machine—who was holding a wooden stick—upstairs.
*Why is that guy holding a wooden stick when he's a mage?*
The Three Stooges and Laundry Machine awkwardly headed upstairs.
Refrigerator looked at me and held up his pinky. Only after I nodded did he finally go up.
Hana, however, didn't leave. She stood slightly behind the man.
I gestured again, but Hana shook her head with her trademark stubborn expression.
The front of Hana's skirt seemed unusually bulky. Unless Hana had changed her gender in the meantime...
*A crossbow?*
Not a bad choice.
Even a knight can die from an arrow to the back of the head while drinking. If she aimed for a moment when he let his guard down, it would surely be effective.
The man set down his mug and stared at me with dark brown eyes, the color of condensed sand.
Unlike when he was in the desert, his eyes were hazy, as if clouded over.
*Looks like the imperial life suits him.*
A good sign for me.
“Hana, could you bring us some warm wine?”
I ordered, meeting the man's gaze.
Hana turned back with an awkward gait.
From behind, she looked like a little boy who'd just been circumcised.
“Warm wine. Didn't you hate it?”
“I still do. But since I have a guest, I'll have a glass.”
“A guest, you say.”
He muttered under his breath, the corners of his mouth lifting in amusement.
“Right, you were a guest too.”
A voice thick with suppressed emotion, eyes filled with clear animosity.
Facing him naturally brought back the past.
***
*That bastard of a captain. Dragging us all the way to the desert, even if he paid us. I knew he was crazy, but...*
The scorching sun made it hard to breathe.
I tore the cloth from my face and threw it aside.
Pfft—I spat out the sand in my mouth and stared beyond the shimmering heat haze.
Beyond the walls made of massive stones, an endless horde of imperial soldiers stretched out. The mere sight was suffocating.
“Don't worry, rookie. I'll be the one to kill you.”
Woodra spouted more of her weird nonsense and winked. Ever since that incident, she'd been hovering around me, making my hair stand on end.
*...Crazy bitch.*
But I was still weaker than her, so I had no choice but to smile as if I were touched.
Boom, boom, boom, boom—
Soon, the imperial forces began to move.
As they marched to the beat of the drums, the ground seemed to tremble.
Sand and dust kicked up, scattering the heat haze.
“Is this right? Didn't the captain just lose his mind? Siding with the Bizantium Kingdom instead of the Empire...”
“Aron, you don't get it. The underdog is always the most fun.”
whispered Wayne, the gambler who'd once offered to teach me how to gamble if I stole Woodra's underwear for him.
*Crazy gambling bastard. Underdog, my ass...*
He was a lunatic addicted to gambling, but the die was already cast.
Without hesitation, I drew my sword.
In this barbaric place, everything was simple.
Kill or be killed.
Kill someone, and you could live a richer, more prosperous life.
In a way, it was like a game.
Except the monsters here spewed curses and coughed up blood as they died.
Fortunately, I had a fair bit of talent.
Spit—I spat over the wall and faced the approaching imperial bastards.
Even after we poured hot oil and dumped all the filth we had, those relentless imperial soldiers kept crawling up the walls.
Nearly two-thirds of them fell to their deaths, but their numbers were so vast that even the remaining third was enough to crowd the ramparts.
And so, the medieval-style turf war began.
As a mercenary hired by the actual residents, I wiped the filth from my hands onto my pants and readjusted my grip on my sword.
My opponent was a man wearing an iron breastplate and a chainmail vest.
*Cowardly pay-to-win bastard.*
My armor was all leather except for the breastplate, making it an unfair fight. Unfortunately, there was no complaint department in the Middle Ages.
My hands trembled with tension, but I didn't take my eyes off my opponent. No, I made them tremble on purpose. To make myself look like nothing more than a big, oafish new recruit.
It must have worked, because the man sneered and swung his sword. Lost in his own bravado, his movement was wide, so I quickly thrust my own sword forward.
I had survived a year of this shitty mercenary life; I could handle one imperial soldier. It would just take some time.
His chainmail deflected my sword time and again. Cowardly pay-to-win bastard!
“Pay-to-win warrior!”
I cracked a joke to keep my head straight and thrust my sword again. I'd already stabbed the same spot three times; not even that expensive chainmail could hold up this time.
A shitty sensation traveled up my arm.
Hot blood sprayed from him, drenching my hands and body.
The sound of his last breath. Eyes losing their focus.
A hand grasping pitifully at the air.
*This fucking world.*
I avoided the dying man's gaze.
If I met his eyes, I knew I wouldn't sleep well tonight.
Just then.
“Jeltun!!”
A shout erupted from my side.
I tried to pull my sword free, but it was as if the dead man had cursed me; the blade was stuck in the links of his chainmail.
The coward next to him aimed his spear at me, laughing. “Kahaha! You barbaric desert rats!”
Looking at that sharp, pointed tip, I thought,
*That's going to hurt like hell if it hits me.*
I let go of the sword and considered my next move.
A spear wound like that wouldn't kill me instantly. I'd grab the shaft and...
Just then, a brown hand grabbed the head of the man thrusting the spear at me. His head burst like a watermelon, spraying red blood.
*The Brilliant Fifth Star—Bermunt.*
He was one of the five strongest warriors among the sand-dwellers.
A build and impression like an orc dipped in chocolate.
And his ridiculous, monstrous strength.
He caught the blood streaming from the crushed head in his palm and brought it to his mouth.
The act was so gruesome that the nearby imperial soldiers swallowed hard.
I quickly grabbed the chainmail, shook my sword free, and brushed off the 'extra service' that came out with it.
“You there. Your swordsmanship is decent, but it's lacking something.”
he said to me in his clumsy Imperial tongue.
“It's too by-the-book. As if you think you're some kind of knight. Watch closely. A fight is...”
Giving unsolicited advice, he spread his arms wide, kicked off the rampart, and leaped down.
*That...*
The imperial soldiers climbing up from below were knocked off by his fall, tumbling down in clumps.
Thud, thud, thud. Amidst the gruesome sounds, the man who had jumped into the imperial ranks laughed loudly and began to move.
He grabbed an imperial soldier and tore off his armor. No, he ripped it off. Then he plunged his hand into the soldier's exposed abdomen, pulled out its contents, and scattered them around.
The imperial soldiers who had been thrusting their spears were aghast at the horrific act and took a step back.
Then, as if the abdomen were a snack pouch, he pulled something out, put it in his mouth, and chewed it like gum.
The horrifying display instantly broke the morale of the surrounding imperial forces.
He tore off the soldier's head and drank the flowing blood like a beverage.
And when no more blood came out, he tossed the head behind him like an empty drink can and looked up at me.
His eyes, clearer than any I had ever seen, seemed to say to me,
Welcome to hell.
***
Click.
Hana gestured with her eyes as she set down two mugs.
The sound broke my train of thought, and I saw Bermunt, his face etched with exhaustion.
*He's gotten old. And weak.*
A man who belonged in the desert was now in the Empire; it was as if his roots had rotted.
Another good sign for me.
I pushed one mug toward him and brought the other to my lips.
Warm wine. The desert folk loved it, saying it tasted like blood.
*It really does taste similar.*
I nodded and downed it in one go.
He downed his as well, and Hana headed back inside.
He didn't ask me anything. So I didn't bother running my mouth either.
What happened, happened. Only the consequences remained.
Hana brought more warm wine, and we drank it down in one gulp. She went inside again.
Drinking before a fight is usually like poison, so I avoid it, but it was fine now. I could hold my liquor better than him.
I looked into his unfocused eyes and let my thoughts wander.
*But why is the Fifth Star here? Did that bastard kick him out?*
Even though his kingdom fell due to an unfortunate accident, he was still one of its five strongest warriors. For a man like him to be here, on the opposite side of the continent...
*He must have offered some tactless advice again.*
A man who always spoke the truth, even if it was blunt, and a brat who'd sulk at the slightest scolding. The two of them never got along.
“Looks like his puberty isn't over yet.”
My taunt made the corner of his mouth twitch.
Hana refilled our mugs, and we emptied them at the same time. I glanced over to make sure he'd finished his.
He scowled and showed me his empty mug.
I discreetly hid my own mug, which still had a little wine left.
“The imperial food seems to agree with you, huh?”
I muttered, looking at his forearm. A vein popped on his arm, but it was pathetic compared to its former thickness.
“...It's delicious. I finally understand why you used to curse our food.”
His words brought back an old memory. The Empire's food was gamey enough, but what the desert folk ate was unbearable.
I'd spat out what I put in my mouth, and had to fistfight a warrior who went berserk, claiming he'd been insulted.
*I won, so it wasn't a problem.*
To the desert beggars, the word of the strong was absolute. To become king, you had to defeat every single general-class warrior.
*That's why that old man's neck was so tough.*
I licked my lips and nodded.
“Even now, just thinking about your food makes me want to puke.”
“Still, it had its own flavor.”
He glared at me, his eyes hardening. His wrinkled eyelids narrowed, faintly resembling the look he used to have.
“Bullshit.”
“Respect the culture.”
He used a fancy word that didn't suit him and held out his mug. I slammed mine against his as if to break it, splashing wine all over the table.
I noted that more wine had splashed in my direction.
“Still fucking the sand these days?”
My taunt made his face crumple.
“You were the one who said I'd have a son if I did that...”
His large hand holding the mug trembled, and then the mug crumpled.
“And you had a son, didn't you?”
“...It was a daughter.”
“Daughters are pretty too. I'm jealous.”
“Yes, she was a very pretty daughter.”
Something in his subdued voice made me scratch my cheek.
*Did something happen?*
After I caused that incident, I fled the area, so I didn't know what had happened since.
“Is she dead?”
“No. My wife had an affair with an imperial bastard. My daughter went with her.”
The unexpected words made me clear my throat. His wife had certainly been beautiful.
*I hadn't considered that side effect.*
Instead of answering, I scratched my cheek.
“We'd been together for over ten years, and suddenly she said I smelled.”
*He did smell awful.*
Seeing how clean he was now, he seemed to be washing properly these days.
“So you killed them both?”
“No. The other man was a nobleman's son.”
His answer surprised me.
The man I knew wouldn't have cared about his opponent's status.
“Right. Well, there are plenty of women. Brown skin is quite popular here. You should find someone new.”
“That's right. We've talked about brown skin at our gatherings before,”
Hana, who had been listening quietly, chimed in.
I glanced at Hana's bulging skirt and her right hand hidden beneath it.
“I don't have the strength anymore. The imperial life doesn't seem to suit me.”
“If you're lacking strength, I've got just the thing for you.”
I thought of the chili powder and nodded.
“Alright. Give me some later.”
His eyes were full of weariness and exhaustion.
The sharp eyes he'd had on the battlefield were gone.
We fell silent again, just drinking.
It was he who broke the long silence.
He set down his empty mug and said in a hardened voice,
“I, the 'Fifth Star,' hereby challenge the 'Star Killer' to a 'Single Soul.'”
The deep fatigue and weariness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a blazing fire. He glared, sniffing the air like a wolf that had caught the scent of blood.
*So he's not completely dead yet.*
I looked at the crumpled mug and licked my lips.
A tradition steeped in sheer brutality.
A duel called 'Single Soul,' named because only one of the two survives. Of course, it has another meaning, but he clearly meant the former.
In any case, I had destroyed his home.
Just as I had cut down his king.
He had the right.
“Alright.”
I set down my more-than-half-full mug out of his sight and stood up.
I went up to my room, took off the hunk of iron I called armor for the first time in a while, and came out in my everyday clothes.
But just in case, I wrapped my chest tightly with bandages.
In the backyard, the man was waiting for me, his vitals covered only by a cloth.
I frowned at the gruesome sight, but nodded at the fact that he'd at least covered his important parts. The duel was originally fought completely naked.
*Still, though...*
I let out a low groan, looking at his exposed legs and forearms.
They had thinned, but they were still thick with power.
I had gotten thicker and he had gotten thinner, so we were about even.
I warmed up as I approached him.
I could see Hana peeking her head out. I gestured for her to go back inside, but she ignored me as usual.
*I'll just think of it as insurance.*
I nodded, noticing Hana's skirt was no longer bulging.
“Ooh! Ooh!”
Facing him as he beat his chest with his fists, stoking his fighting spirit, memories I had pushed away came flooding back.
*Did I ever beat this guy?*
I narrowed my eyes, trying to recall the past.
Except for the very last time, I had never once beaten him. Back then, he was a great wall to me, and in a way, a kind of teacher.
Next, he threw a handful of mud into the air.
It was the signal to begin the fight.
In the desert, the sand would have scattered in the wind, creating a rather dramatic effect, but here, it just made a dull *phut* sound.
“Aron!”
Hearing Hana's scream-like cheer, I threw my right fist.
I aimed for the lower part of his exposed left chest.
As if expecting it, he curved his left arm to wrap around mine. Remembering how I'd teared up from that damn technique before, I twisted my waist.
My muscles screamed at the abrupt change in posture, but thanks to my daily training, they held firm without giving out.
My extended fist stopped in place, and my left elbow shot out instead. He raised his right arm, but he was a fraction too slow.
Cra-ack.
My fist landed on his right ribcage with a satisfying sound, and his body jolted slightly.
He didn't just take it. Thud! His fist slammed into my abdomen. I gagged for a moment as pain flared through my gut.
But it wasn't as bad as it used to be in the desert.
Back then, I would have coughed up blood, not just gagged.
This, I could handle.
*He's gotten weaker.*
A bitter taste filled my mouth as I kicked up my left leg. Instead of blocking, he threw a punch of his own.
Thwack—! With a dull thud, both our bodies flinched. My breath hitched, but his face twisted into an ugly grimace.
Seeing that, I grinned brightly at him. He tried to grin back, but the corners of his mouth trembled.
After that, a brutal exchange of fists followed.
Maybe it was because the ground underfoot wasn't sand. Or maybe the wine from earlier was more than he could handle. Or maybe he had just grown old.
His punches were bearable enough.
*Did I get hit in the head?*
Through my blurry vision, I saw him breathing heavily. I shook my head to clear it.
I was beating him like a sandbag, but instead of a sense of accomplishment, guilt weighed on my chest.
But just as he hadn't asked me, I didn't ask him.
Thwack!! Just then, my leg landed squarely on his abdomen, and his body, which had been holding steady, swayed violently.
Yellow bile dribbled from his mouth, but he didn't fall.
*Tough bastard.*
With a sighing assessment, I stomped on his foot to keep him from moving and locked his neck with my left arm. Then I smashed my right fist into his face.
Thud!
With a sound like mincing meat, his body staggered.
Feeling tired, I slammed my right fist into his face again.
His sharp eyes momentarily clouded over.
I didn't avoid his gaze, meeting it as I struck him again.
Crack. My reflection appeared in his hazy eyes.
I wore the expression of a child who'd set fire to a mountain. When I forced a smile, I looked like a kid who'd wet the bed.
His focus vanished, and his heavy weight sagged against my left arm.
I hit him again.
And he crumbled.
To keep him from falling, I held his head with my left hand and kept swinging with my right.
With every swing, my fist felt lighter, but my heart grew heavier.
*How dare you bastards do this to us. To us, who risked our lives for you.*
This noble, stubborn man would never have taken part in the betrayal, but the emotions the memories brought up were as vivid as ever. I couldn't help it.
I had to let it out.
“...Aron! Aron!!”
A muffled voice, as if I were underwater, brought me back to my senses.
Beeeeep—
The ringing in my ears faded, and my blurry vision sharpened.
The man was sprawled on the ground, unconscious, his body twitching slightly.
My ragged breath, my red and hot fists. The searing pain all over my body, and a soft, warm feeling on my back.
My senses returned.
I let out a hot breath and shook myself off.
My whole body was screaming, but not enough to make me collapse.
I looked down at the unconscious man.
Hana's voice had cooled my fervor, and the heat in my head subsided.
Calmly, I began to calculate.
*I was too complacent.*
It's a small castle, and I'm the Jojang of the Outer Wall Guard. I'd foolishly thought that no matter who came looking for me, I'd be the first to meet them.
On top of that, I thought I could always get away by myself, but I'd somehow picked up baggage along the way.
“Aron! Aron! Are you okay?! Aron!”
The soft piece of baggage shrieked.
“You're hurting my ears.”
“You weren't answering! I thought you'd gone crazy!”
Hana's face was pale with tension, and her body was trembling.
“It's hot. Get off me.”
“...That's because you! You were acting like a maniac!”
Finally realizing what she was doing, Hana pushed me away and started babbling, her face red.
“It's not the first time I've beaten someone up.”
I shook my head to clear my thoughts and nudged the unconscious man with my foot.
*A Single Soul...*
A time-honored tradition of the barbaric desert folk.
A fight named 'Single Soul' because it only ends when one of the two is dead.
*Stubborn old has-been.*
I looked at the fallen man and organized my thoughts.
His stubbornness would definitely work in my favor. He was a noble fool who would keep a promise with his life.
As for him being a has-been, I could fix that by using him as a punching bag or sparring partner during my morning training.
*If I think of it as getting a Jindo dog to prepare for future incidents like this...*
It wasn't a bad idea.
He'd cost a bit in food, but this was a guy who used to eat sand. He'd find anything I gave him delicious.
Then, I thought again about the 'Single Soul.'
It meant only one soul would remain because one had to die, but it also had another meaning...
*Fuck.*
The annoyance that came with recalling the other meaning made me scratch my head furiously.
Whatever the meaning, that stubborn bastard would never refuse the tradition.
***
Like the brutish sand-dweller he was, the man regained consciousness quickly.
The kids I'd sent upstairs had somehow come back down and were now peeking at us, their faces tense.
*Why are they holding cooking utensils...?*
I sighed, but telling them to stop seemed pointless, so I let them be.
Seeing this mess, it seemed I really did need to get a brown Jindo dog.
This guy came alone because he's stubborn. But when I think of the others who are desperately looking for me...
*Looking back, I really have caused a lot of trouble. Though it was all unavoidable...*
Suddenly, I remembered the guy whose head got chopped off earlier.
*Gel-something...*
He did what he did to survive, but in the end, he was caught and beheaded.
He'd been shouting that Nova was a witch, so I'd had no choice but to pull out all his teeth.
'Witch' was a trigger word for the people here. Even if it came from a man on death row, I couldn't predict the consequences if he said it in front of a crowd.
Instead, I gave him stew.
A man who would have died on an empty stomach got to fill his belly, so he was probably satisfied.
Bermunt opened his eyes, scowled at his surroundings, and then met my gaze, glaring.
“Why didn't you kill me? Did you forget our traditions after returning to the Empire? Are you trying to stop me from reaching the Twilight Oasis?”
Spit—! He even spat as he thrashed about.
To calm the agitated man, I threw a punch. However, he was so worked up that he wouldn't calm down easily, so it took quite a bit of effort.
“Why didn't you kill me?”
His molar must have been knocked out; the strange lisp was incredibly annoying.
*...How do I explain this so this bastard doesn't misunderstand?*
I thought for a moment before speaking bluntly.
“'Single Soul' has another meaning, doesn't it?”
“...Another meaning?”
At my words, he frowned in thought for a long moment. And then—
“You... You bastard...”
A look of horror filled his eyes.
His face, which had never once shown fear, was now filled with shock and terror.
“Wait, that's not it.”
His intense reaction made me quickly hold up my hands.
“To make me your sex slave...”
“I'll explain, so stop your bullshit.”
“No wonder you were looking at me that way!”
“No, to be precise, it's not a sex slave, just a slave. It's you horny bastards who...”
To be precise, it wasn't about sex slaves, but the victor enslaving the loser. The desert beggars used that tradition to take women they fancied, twisting it into their own romantic notion of living as a single soul for life.
“Kuh! Just kill me! I don't need the Twilight Oasis! I'll kill myself!”
“That's not it, I just need a guard dog...”
“How truly vile you are, Star Killer! Not content with killing a star, now you want to fuck one...”
“Seriously, cut the crap.”
I couldn't listen to any more of it, so I quickly administered another sedative. The man, who had been trying to strangle himself, foamed at the mouth and passed out.
“A... Aron, no wonder...”
Hana stuttered, clearly in shock.
“Umm...”
The Three Stooges and Laundry Machine groaned and hid behind something.
And Refrigerator was nodding.
*...Fucking Middle Ages.*
I muttered my favorite curse and pressed my temples.
***
It took quite a bit of effort and time to clear up the misunderstanding.
“Ahaha! Sho that's what it wash!”
The man, his face a bloody mess, laughed heartily, as if greatly relieved.
*His pronunciation is shit.*
Since I was the one who'd knocked out his molar, I couldn't really say anything.
“You're really shomething elshe! To think of enshlaving the Fifth Shtar! Are you planning to ruin the Empire nexsht?!”
“Could you... try to enunciate a little more?”
“Ah, my Imperial tongue is shtill a bit clumshy. Anyway, tradition is tradition, sho I will follow. Come to think of it, there wash a Prime Shtar who recruited shubordinates that way! I misundershtood!”
His constant lisping made me wonder for a moment if hitting the other side of his face might fix it.
“Is it true, Aron? Tell me the truth. That way I can figure out a way...”
Hana's serious voice and the wary eyes of the others gave me a headache. I waved my hand dismissively.
Bermunt followed Hana's lead to go wash up.
He seemed to be at his limit, staggering, but he walked on his own.
He looked like he'd collapse if Refrigerator so much as poked him.
The Three Stooges carefully began to clean up the wrecked hall.
The sight of them trying not to turn their backs to me made anger surge within me.
Just as I was barely calming myself down, an exhausted Dylan returned.
Seeing all the stuff stuck to his body, it looked like he had searched every corner of Casedic Castle.
With a dejected face, Dylan headed to the back to wash up—
Thump!
There was a dull thud.
I turned my head and saw—
“Biiig Brooo!!! Twenty silver! Twenty silver!!!”
Dylan, dragging the unconscious Bermunt by the hair.
My head was pounding.