Armor and Resolve
The Halrot Kingdom, where the Volf Mercenary Corps operated, sat in the eastern reaches of the Western Continent — a land locked in a thoroughly ordinary civil war between a legitimate First Prince and a gifted, ambitious Second Prince, each clawing for the throne.
Picking a side and taking employment under either faction paid far better than ordinary contracts. But by the time the war ended, a mid-sized company of roughly a hundred men would almost certainly be whittled down to a dozen or so.
Money was necessary to grow and maintain a mercenary band — yet throwing themselves into a civil war was far too dangerous.
So why operate in a war zone at all, if they had no intention of joining the fighting? Because the soldiers' spears and swords had turned inward, and the monsters beyond the borders had begun to swell in strength. Neither of the kingdom's would-be heirs wanted their realm gnawed away by monster threats, so they left alone any mercenaries who confined themselves to hunting beasts.
Thanks to that arrangement, Volf had been steadily building his company and advancing smoothly toward the future he envisioned.
Then a new talent appeared — one who would rewrite the very outcome of that future he had set for himself.
Thwack! Thud! Thwack! Thud!
"Oooh."
"Kid's got a decent eye."
"No kidding. Six or seven out of ten after ten days of training? That's talent."
After a full month of settling into the Volf Mercenary Corps, Kaisent had judged himself ready and begged to be accepted as a proper member. Volf had refused at first — the boy was simply too young — but the quietly stubborn child's pleading wore him down little by little.
Then at least let me shoot a bow from a distance!
Hearing that, Volf had nearly laughed out loud. Drawing a bowstring over and over in the middle of a fight demanded both raw strength and stamina. But the resolve radiating from the boy — the absolute refusal to back down without at least trying — convinced Volf to hand over a bow and a quiver of arrows and tell him to shoot, accuracy be damned.
He had shown Kaisent nothing more than how to nock an arrow and the basic stance. And yet, astonishingly, the boy put his first shot dead center in the bullseye.
Every mercenary watching had gone wide-eyed with shock — only for the subsequent arrows to scatter wildly, as if Kaisent had completely lost his zero. Still, simply proving he could shoot at all was enough. With Volf's permission, Kaisent began training as an archer.
At last he was receiving the training he had wanted. And yet dissatisfaction only piled higher in his chest.
Ugh. Deliberately missing is harder than hitting…
Every time he picked up a bow, the mercenaries gathered to watch, and their eyes made it impossible to shoot freely.
What's supposed to be difficult about this? You just repeat the most natural, optimal form over and over.
The company's archers practiced constantly to keep their feel — even on the march they would loose a few training shafts. Kaisent had spent a full month watching and studying every detail of their form. That was why, the first time he held a bow, he could already put an arrow through the exact center of a target: wind flow, arrow trajectory, draw posture — he had absorbed it all.
So they weren't missing the bullseye on purpose after all.
He had assumed the mercenaries aimed all over the target deliberately, imagining the gaps that opened when allies and enemies clashed. Their stunned faces when he hit dead center had taught him otherwise. Without Dang Seol-yeong's advice, he would have kept drilling the bullseye shot after shot.
If I shoot too much, they'll start looking at me funny again.
At his current level he could have loosed arrows all day without trouble, but the other mercenaries had warned him that drawing the string too many times would tear the skin on his fingers.
"They're back!"
"Finally — shift change!"
Half the company had gone into the city; now the others spotted them returning and erupted in cheers. The Volf Mercenary Corps had arrived at a new city and pitched camp outside its walls. Their wagons held too many of the company's resources to bring inside — even if it had been allowed, it would have caused no end of trouble. So half the men always stayed to guard the camp while the other half went in to handle business, then swapped.
"Hey, how were the women on your side?"
"Average, honestly."
"In the middle of a war, average is a blessing."
Naturally, the mercenaries' foremost concern was relieving the lust of healthy, vigorous men.
"Oi, Kaisent. You coming along?"
"Pardon?"
"You're a mercenary now, aren't you? Could die any day — shouldn't you at least know what a woman feels like? This big brother'll treat you for your first time. Don't worry about the coin."
"You insane bastard. Teaching a kid that?"
"He's not even of age yet."
"So what? Is there a law that says you have to wait until you're grown?"
One mercenary tried to help Kaisent lose his virginity. Kaisent, of course, shook his head and refused.
"I'm fine, thank you."
"Scared? Trust me, once you try it, it feels amazing."
"He said no. Stop teaching the kid weird crap."
"It's so good I can't even put it into words. Seriously, so good."
The others dragged away the man who still looked heartbroken at failing to deflower the boy.
Vulgar women make me sick.
Raised on the affection of elegant, dignified older sisters, Kaisent had once watched a maidservant try to seduce him in hopes of joining the family. She had struck every provocative pose and worn every scrap of revealing clothing she could manage to stir his desire — and he had looked at her the way one looks at something black and writhing that reeks of a chicken coop.
I hate women with no pride.
Whether it was the influence of his sisters and mothers, or the blood inherited from his father, a woman who devoted herself entirely to seducing men filled him with nothing but revulsion, no matter how beautiful she was.
Besides, he had no money. There was nothing to buy inside the city. Kaisent decided to stay at camp.
"Kaisent."
"Ah — Vice-Captain."
A short while later, Frederick, the vice-captain, returned from the city and called him over.
"A gift."
"This is…?"
Kaisent accepted a box. At Frederick's nod, he opened it.
"Oh."
Inside lay a leather cuirass tailored for a small frame — stiff, shirt-style hardened leather integrated with shoulder guards. It was a size large for Kaisent's current build, but cinching the straps tight would make it wearable.
"Armor for the smallfolk races. You'll keep growing, so I bought one size up. Tighten the cords and it'll fit well enough."
"Th-thank you so much!"
Remembering how Frederick had taken his measurements earlier, Kaisent brightened at the first gift he had received in this world. The vice-captain, used to dealing with nothing but rough-faced mercenaries, found his heart softening at the boy's earnest little bow — and offered genuine advice.
"We trained you because you asked for it. But remember: real combat is rougher and more dangerous than anything you've imagined."
"…Yes, sir."
"I recommend wearing the armor every day. You need to get used to the discomfort if you're going to use it when it counts."
With that, Frederick showed him how to put it on, then left to attend to other business.
I already know. I know how terrifying a fight to the death can be…
Even now he could see the face of the man who had branded them "evil" and swung his blade with murder in his eyes. A ordinary coward would have been crippled by PTSD — flinching at the mere sight of a sword for the rest of his life, never mind fighting.
That's exactly why I have to fight. To take my sister back. To kill the bastard who destroyed our happiness…!
But Kaisent had inherited the blood of a father known across their original galaxy as Demon King, Emperor, and a dozen other titles — and that inheritance ran stronger in him than in anyone. Hatred for the man who had wounded and tormented his woman crushed the fear flat. He had resolved that even if a chance to return to his original world appeared before he reclaimed Dang Seol-yeong, he would kick it aside. Kaisent began putting on the armor, determined to grow accustomed to it.
After selling off loot and purchasing necessary supplies, Volf used the stop in the city to hunt down their next contract as well. As evening fell, he gathered every mercenary and explained their next destination.
"This time, we head east."
"East?"
"Isn't that side pretty dangerous?"
"Shut it for a second."
The word east set the mercenaries buzzing; a moment later they fell quiet again.
"Margrave Karaiden's forces are holding the Saryeong Kingdom front, and organized greenskins have been tearing through the weakened rear. It's urgent enough that a single goblin head is worth thirty copper."
"Whoa! That's ten copper more than usual!"
"If goblins pay that much, orcs and hobgoblins have to be even better, right?"
"Organized greenskins are a pain — but the loot should be just as good."
The mercenaries' eyes lit up at the inflated bounty on monster heads.
"It's open participation, so plenty of other companies will pile in. The longer we waste time, the less of the pie left for us. We move at first light. Tonight, shut up and sleep."
"Aw, come on. I just bought new cards. Wanted to play a few hands."
"Play all you want — if you've got the trick of walking while you sleep."
Frederick answered the disappointed card-player with a light mix of teasing and warning.
"Dismissed."
Given free time, the mercenaries crowded around Kaisent, who would be seeing his first real combat.
"Kaisent, greenskins are cunning. You stay behind us at all times. No exceptions."
"What are greenskins?"
"Means green-skinned. Goblins, orcs, hobgoblins — that lot. They come in other colors too, but green is the most common, so we lump them together."
"They form up with a kind of organization. Fighting an organized greenskin pack is basically fighting an army — a clumsy one, but still."
"Depends on whoever's leading them. Just bunching up doesn't mean they've got real cohesion."
One after another they offered warnings to the boy who somehow managed to be both adorable and the sort of person you instinctively wanted to protect. The most frightening part, though, was that Kaisent believed every step of this was his own will.
My first battle for the sake of growing stronger… For my own personal wish, I have to take other lives…
He knew little about greenskins, but they were living beings with their own circumstances. From now on, to keep others from forcing their will on him, he would force his will on others — in the form of taking their lives.
His chest tightened, heavy and aching. But when he reminded himself that all of this was part of the journey to reclaim Dang Seol-yeong and take revenge on that man, he had no choice but to steel himself.
The next morning, the Volf Mercenary Corps struck camp, loaded everything onto the wagons, and set out east. The armor was hot and uncomfortable, but Kaisent told himself he needed to grow used to every bit of it for what lay ahead, and marched alongside the mercenaries without a single complaint.
After roughly four days on the road, Kaisent finally understood what it meant to wage war with cold steel.
"Ugh…!"
Bloodstains and hunks of flesh carved by something sharp. Wooden houses reduced to charcoal. Following the road, they had arrived at a plundered village — and the scene told them everything even without corpses.
"Still, we're lucky. No bodies."
"If he'd seen what greenskins leave of a corpse right from the start, it might've been dangerous."
The mercenaries watching over Kaisent breathed a quiet sigh of relief at the absence of remains. Greenskins ate humans. Looking at a body reduced to meat could let terror devour a man's will to fight.
"Captain. Tracks leading away. They took people."
A scout skilled at tracking had found the trail. The mercenaries on perimeter watch glanced toward Volf. His full helm hid every expression, but he was a man who always took responsibility for his decisions — and their trust in him ran deep.
"We pursue. If it's a fortress, we pull back. If it's a camp, we attack."
Most of the villagers who had been dragged off would already be dead — turned into meat. The goods the greenskins had plundered would serve as the price of vengeance. Ordinary monsters rarely yielded that kind of side income, but greenskins had intelligence and a society of sorts. With them, you could count on a profitable little bonus.
The moment the decision to pursue was made, the mercenaries who had been trading jokes fell silent and began scanning the surroundings. Kaisent drew his bow and, almost by reflex, fretted at the quiver strapped to his right thigh.
Greenskins could set traps. Scouts went ahead to check for them. Fortunately, it seemed the raiders had never been pursued after a strike like this — there were no traps at all.
After several more hours of travel, they found it in the forest: a stench Kaisent had never smelled before, crude palisades, and filthy tents.