Chapter 70
Chapter 70
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 70
>Chapter Title: I Was Fifty Last Year
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The chief of the 1st Base Camp.
Aviot's mercenary captain, Picker, glared at Obern with his fierce eyes.
"No good?"
"Yes, no good. The area around the 4th Base Camp has long since become a land of death. I don't know how much you know, Chief, but whatever you imagine, you'll see even worse."
An unwavering tone.
Oberne expressed his will in a steady voice, as if he were an actor who had memorized his lines over many years.
Picker stared at Obern for a moment.
It was then that his whitening eyebrows twitched.
"Worse than I imagined...? Does that mean I should take it as you telling me it's a place to die, so don't go looking for it?"
Picker was a surprisingly polite man for a mercenary.
Even when dealing with Obern, who was much younger than him, his voice carried no intimidation, and it held a degree of consideration.
This wasn't because Obern was a magician.
It was simply because Picker was that kind of man...
"..."
The gaze that silently bore into Obern revealed an unmistakable anger.
What on earth was he angry about?
"..."
Obern paused at the inexplicable ripple of emotion.
Even if he was treated as a mere ronin mercenary, the anger of a seasoned veteran who had lived off the blade for decades burned hot.
But Obern showed no sign of backing down from his stance.
'Pointless sacrifice.'
Even mercenaries who had rolled through the Hamern Great Forest as much as they could were ultimately those who couldn't become knights.
There were some among them who surpassed knights in skill... especially a veteran like Picker, who likely wouldn't fall short of knights.
In the end, it was no different from a dog's death.
'That place... yeah.'
It was hell itself.
Even if, by some miracle, Picker was a master knight-level expert, it would be the same.
Regardless of his level.
Because the other mercenaries following him would just be crawling into their graves.
So, his answer was...
"Yes, that's right."
A firm refusal.
Obern bit his lower lip after speaking.
Picker's rippling eyes. How would the anger within them erupt?
He always felt it, but facing another's malice was utterly tormenting.
No, terrifying even.
Yet Obern resolved to endure even that.
An unshakeable conviction.
What was truly frightening was not the malicious emotions from others, but crumbling himself by failing to uphold his beliefs.
But why?
"Young magician."
The voice that leaked from Picker's mouth was soft.
However, that was merely the surface.
Beneath the softness lay emotions as scorching as a boiling furnace.
It was then that Picker exhaled that hot breath.
"What... do you take us for, exactly?"
"...?"
A growl like that of a wounded beast.
"I've heard the rumors about you long ago. Disciple of the old war magician... chatty young mercenaries were saying things about you. That you're a genius comparable to Blandoga's young patriarch."
"That's the truth..."
"Yeah, probably not. How would mercenaries know the world of magicians? But hearing that nonsense, did it go to your head? Made you think you're some great being?"
"What do you..."
It was then that Picker slammed up from his seat.
Boom—!
Had he released his ether?
An immense aura burst forth, making the tent sway once.
The furniture inside screamed as it shifted, and the lit candle went out at that moment.
Yet the tent did not darken.
Sss—
Rather, it lit up even brighter than before from the ether emanating from Picker's body.
Amid that.
"A place to die? Arrogant. Who decides that?"
Picker's voice continued.
"I'll ask you. Is death the most miserable thing to you? Then why walk into the 4th Base Camp of your own accord? Do you trust your master that much?"
"That's... not it."
He wasn't trying to go to the 4th Base Camp because he trusted his master.
Simply—
"There's a monster that must be sealed there. Destroia. Whether I live or die doesn't matter."
"Why must Destroia be sealed?"
"If it awakens... many people will die..."
Solely for the greater good.
That was the reason.
It was then that Picker burst into laughter.
"Hahaha! I've never seen such an arrogant bastard!"
As if mocking. Or as if he couldn't bear how ridiculous it was.
But why?
The reason that laughter seemed self-deprecating.
'…'
Aster watched the scene with indifferent eyes, yet he could read the emotions contained within.
"Do we, the forest mercenaries, look like fools begging for your help?"
"..."
"Or do you think you're that great of a being? Answer me, you blood-clot magician."
Obern didn't answer. No, he couldn't.
Picker didn't seem to expect an answer either, as he jabbed a thick finger straight at Obern and ground out his words.
"I've lived until today relying on a single sword. It might look like the life of a wretched blade-for-hire to you, but we have things to protect and territories we absolutely won't yield. And yet..."
"..."
"What right do you have? A place to die? Bullshit. So, should we just sit on our hands and trust you and your master? Rihaym—I had hopes because you're his disciple... tch."
Picker said that much and turned away sharply.
Obern could only gaze at Picker's back with trembling eyes.
That broad back somehow looked shabby.
'...Ah!'
It was then that Obern finally realized what mistake he had made.
Even a speechless beast would defend its territory if threatened—that was natural.
Humans were more complex, but Picker was the leader of a group trying to protect their turf.
The chief, literally.
Yet his words...
'...I overstepped.'
Unwarranted pity.
'I can do it, but they can't? Ah! In the end... I was no different from looking down on them!'
He had said he would protect them, but perhaps that was tainted with a shallow sense of chosen superiority.
That was the reason for the anger in Picker's eyes.
Even up to the moment Picker exited the tent.
Obern couldn't say a word.
It felt like an unknown flaw had been exposed. Shameful, as if stripped bare.
Darkness settled in the tent.
It was then that Aster's voice came.
"While the light's out... let's sleep."
"...M-Magician, sir. With the mood right now..."
Railly cautiously spoke up, but Aster ignored him and flopped onto the bed.
"Then stay up all night. I'm sleeping."
"..."
Railly clamped his mouth shut at that nonchalant voice.
After a moment.
His eyes, adjusted to the dark, looked at Obern.
'Ugh.'
The party's leader was that obnoxious magician, but Obern was no one to ignore either.
With him in such low spirits, it was impossible not to read the room.
But.
"W-Well, then me too..."
Railly quietly crawled into the remaining bed.
For reference.
There were only two beds in the tent.
* * *
Dawn, when all were asleep.
Aster quietly rose from his spot.
'My body's... definitely much lighter now.'
His sleep had been only three or four hours, but the lethargy was almost gone.
At this point, one cycle of breathing technique would be enough to shake off all the fatigue.
Faster recovery than Obern had predicted.
However.
"Tch, dumbass."
Aster glanced at Obern, curled up asleep on the leather bedding.
He grabbed the kid by the scruff, laid him on the bed, and soon exited the tent.
Zzzzt— zzt—
The 1st Base Camp, filled only with the occasional chirp of crickets.
With eyes piercing the darkness, Aster found and entered the largest tent in the base camp.
The tent's owner was still awake and tilted his head at Aster's visit.
"...Hm? What's up?"
"Nothing much. Anyway, sit and talk."
As if host and guest had swapped, Aster naturally pulled a chair and took over the table.
The tent's owner, Picker, stared blankly at him.
"You look young... but you're awfully brazen."
"How old are you?"
"Fifty next year."
"I was fifty last year."
"...You're insane."
"First time hearing that."
"..."
Picker gave up continuing the conversation on that topic.
Even with his face covered, the exposed skin clearly showed he was much younger.
How could he be so brazen?
'A real madman.'
But since there were plenty of madmen among mercenaries, Picker adapted quickly.
Anyway.
"I asked what brings you."
"Well, I'm here to ask the same. What're you gonna do?"
"About what?"
"Going to the 4th Base Camp."
"...Hm."
Picker didn't reply, just stared down at the table.
The table was covered with a map of the Hamern Great Forest, marked with fresh ink stains that were clearly recent.
He didn't answer, but...
'In the end, you were planning to head to the 4th Base Camp somehow.'
"Hey, you grizzled old-timer. Why not just go with us?"
"...?"
"You're not chickening out because of some wet-behind-the-ears kid's words, right? If you're going anyway, better together, no?"
"...Why? No, isn't that magician the decision-maker?"
"He's a figurehead."
In reality, Aster held the party's decision-making power.
And as for 'why'...
Even if the kid was clueless about the world, Aster wasn't.
When he had vented his anger at Obern earlier.
That ether bursting from his whole body!
'Experts of that caliber are rare even among knights.'
Had he read his true intent?
"You're planning to use our boys as meat shields."
"Harsh way to put it, but not wrong. Who turns down help these days? We should be dragging runaways back by force."
"Hmm..."
Picker leaned back in his chair.
This chair was massive enough to fully support his build.
After a moment.
"Think of it as a commission?"
"Hey, grizzled old-timer. You get what you want—why haggle more?"
"An escape route."
"Escape route?"
Picker nodded.
"Only the old vets will go to the 4th Base Camp. I'll evacuate the young ones outside the Hamern Great Forest."
"You were calling it arrogant earlier?"
"Doesn't mean I can let Aviot's line die out. Who do you think the old vets are crawling to their deaths for?"
"For the young ones? How touching."
"Touching? We're desperate here."
Picker pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it with a match.
Soon, acrid smoke filled the room.
"The path to the 4th Base Camp—we can find it ourselves somehow. We have pathfinders too."
"And?"
"But no one knows the way out. Our pathfinders are just so-so."
"So, in other words..."
"Railly. I know that blabbermouth well. Personality aside, his pathfinding is the best in the Hamern Great Forest. Lend him to me."
Picker said that much and exhaled thick smoke again.
Then he looked at the masked kid.
This was the original reason Picker had sought out the party.
'We can find the way ourselves somehow... but that's too risky.'
Then the magician appeared.
He judged the magician's firepower could make up for their lacking pathfinding.
So.
"You're saying swap pathfinders? Give us yours, and you'll guide us?"
"Yeah, that'll be it."
"Go that far? Exiting the outskirts isn't hard. Why not just use yours?"
Aster tilted his head.
But Picker tilted his head too.
"...? Didn't you see on the way?"
"See what?"
"There's the swamp ruler in the marsh, right? Our pathfinders aren't sensitive enough to find paths avoiding the swamp. Especially this season."
If not for the damned swamp ruler, they would've sent the young ones out and headed to the 4th Base Camp ages ago.
But because of that cursed swamp ruler, Aviot's pathfinders had gone out scouting for swamp-avoiding routes.
That's why they were stuck.
But then.
"What, then it's solved?"
"...?"
Aster spoke casually.
The words that followed were unbelievable to Picker.
"How do you think we got to the 1st Base Camp? If we'd gone around the swamp, we'd be at the 3rd."
"That's..."
Now that he thought about it, true.
How did they get to the 1st Base Camp?
The swamp was guarded by the swamp ruler.
"...No way. It went back?"
"Nope?"
"...Then?"
"Yeah, it did go back."
Aster scratched his ear, then pointed his index finger straight up at the sky.
"Up there."
"...?"
"Argh, really. The grizzled old-timer doesn't get it. Back to the sky. Meaning..."
"...It's dead?"
A somewhat hollow question.
Aster nodded calmly in response.
"Yeah, I personally sent it off myself."