Chapter 24
Chapter 24
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: Not a Ghost
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"I'm no slave of the Empire. I was freed when my homeland lost the war and my idiot officer master's head rolled alongside his foolish noggin."
"……."
"It wasn't because the Empire was some especially humane country. Quite the opposite—they even rounded up able-bodied soldiers and turned them into slaves. The reason I got freed... was because I knew too much about the dumb shit that dimwitted master of mine pulled."
Crouch dredged up old memories.
It wasn't some grand "age of war."
If anything, it was the age of conquest and colonization.
He had no idea by what right the Empire "colonized" perfectly fine countries,
but that was exactly what they did.
They colonized territory, markets, politics,
and gobbled up whatever they opened.
Crouch, once a mere slave and now a mere soldier, knew little of such things.
There was only one thing he knew.
"Betray your master, and the Empire promises you freedom and farmland."
Betray your homeland, and you could become an Empire citizen.
A free man.
Those who upheld honor to the end became slaves,
while traitors and turncoats became free men.
"……."
"……."
Surprisingly, the Empire kept its word.
Well, not for everyone.
The master Crouch sold out was a fairly accomplished soldier,
so he got a modest plot of farmland and a bit of coin.
He gained free man status,
and the slight stigma of being a "betrayer who sold out his master."
It didn't feel so bad.
He still had money and freedom, after all.
With money,
no one dared insult him as a filthy turncoat.
"……."
In other words,
without money, he was nothing.
And unfortunately,
Crouch had no real knack for making money.
"Land reform...?"
"That's right."
"Who's taking my land?! This was personally granted to me by the commander for my wartime merits—"
"We're not just taking it. You'll get compensation based on the acreage."
"……."
"Besides, you're no war hero. What merits does a turncoat who betrayed his master and sold out his country even have...?"
It was an era where everything changed at breakneck speed.
Factories sprouted in cities, marring the skyline one by one,
harbors buzzed with endless construction,
and land reforms or imperial edicts siphoned capital straight into the pockets of those in power.
Anyone who could ride that wave might've made a fortune.
But Crouch wasn't that impressive.
He was just someone hopelessly out of step with the times, only knowing how to scrape by day-to-day with crafts and farming.
He needed work.
But he couldn't find proper employment.
And he lacked the guts for business.
That was when the "Money Ghost" picked him up.
"You've got a talent for making money."
"Pardon?"
"I like it. Be my soldier."
The Golden Ear.
Human scum who treated lives and dignity like flies.
A merchant who'd sell even a drop of blood at top dollar if it went up for auction.
The nightmare of orphans and debtors.
The first time he laid eyes on that man—who went by many names—Crouch's mind flashed to one word: "devil."
"You're a beastly slave among beasts, the most ungrateful of the lot. You can kill without hesitation and shrug it off as unavoidable. You don't flinch at spilling blood—that's your only flaw, never properly wielding a blade."
"……."
"As a slave used by the military, you've picked up some skills over the shoulder. Serve as my soldier, and you'll never starve."
He could peer into a person's soul with his right hand,
and grip it tight with his serpent's tongue.
Anyone who'd met him knew it.
Karl Riddle's most vicious and terrifying trait
wasn't his wealth.
His scariest quality was
that he knew how to make money.
And,
he might not use that knowledge solely for profit.
To know how to make money
was, with a touch of exaggeration,
tantamount to knowing everything in this world.
"……Why me? I was a slave under an officer, but I was never a soldier myself. I don't even know how to fight properly."
"I don't need a soldier who fights properly."
"Pardon?"
"The number of soldiers a mere merchant house head can afford is limited. Enough to defend territory, not invade. In this day and age, lords can't wage wars anyway. And if you value your life, you wouldn't dare. So what I really need isn't brave warriors who win battles."
"……."
The important from the unimportant.
The valuable from the worthless.
The profitable from the unprofitable.
The count had a talent for distinguishing them.
And to the count,
Crouch seemed fairly "useful."
"In this era, a soldier's role isn't killing enemies well—that's for the Empire's army. No, it's crushing fools who threaten authority. That's the proper role for a soldier in tune with the times."
"……."
"I need beastly men who can kill disloyal elements in the territory without hesitation and intimidate ruthlessly. Someone strong against the weak, groveling to the strong. That's the soldier I want. And surprisingly, such talent isn't common."
Crouch could sell honor without hesitation.
Sell morals for freedom.
Sell reputation for coin.
That was exactly the kind of soldier Count Riddle needed.
What threatened the Riddles weren't clever foes
across the border—it was internal.
That was the era they lived in.
At least, as the count judged it.
"……How can you trust a slave who stabbed his master in the back? Aren't I the exact sort of arrogant climber Your Excellency should watch out for?"
"That's precisely why I'm using you."
"Pardon?"
"Someone who's already stabbed one master in the back can spot and handle those scheming to do the same to me more easily. And what gain is there in a soldier betraying his master? You're no slave. I'll hire you with coin, and that pay will be your leash."
"……."
"I'm not like your idiot former master. He was an officer in a crumbling nation, foolish enough to die with it. But I'll always be among the strong. With money, I'll always side with power. That's my honor. To uphold it, I can even promise decent treatment to beasts like you."
"……."
"If you don't want to be a slave again, crush any slaves before anyone else. Simple, isn't it?"
He truly was a devil with a serpent's tongue.
Yet a devil who recognized the worth of a lowly freed slave.
That was enough.
Devil or angel,
it was right to stick with the one providing food.
"……."
.
.
.
"I've killed many people."
The scent of murder wafted from that soldier.
It wasn't the stench of a slaughterhouse.
Nor the fishy reek of rusted iron.
That murder's scent was
the peculiar soapy smell of someone who'd scrubbed their skin raw with soap time and again.
A mere slave couldn't even wash away the blood smell,
but this soldier had at least the freedom to scrub it off with soap.
"I killed those who resisted, those who betrayed. I led the charge to kill, chased down and killed the fleeing. I killed those begging for mercy before hesitation could creep in, and wore down the thrashing ones until they tired, then killed them."
Yet despite that soapy scent,
the man didn't confess his murders in a tone of regret or disillusionment.
On the contrary,
as if it were a proud memory,
with the dignified bearing Mophin had mistaken for "noble" at first sight,
he spoke.
His achievements were in slaughtering the weak.
He was a man paid to do it.
"Killing scum like you is my job. If you'd caused trouble, I'd have killed you without a second thought."
"……."
"So... even if I dragged you here and laid you down, don't bother feeling grateful. It's just my job, what I'm supposed to do. Protecting his assets is my role."
"……."
Crouch was a man who could discard "items" without hesitation.
He wouldn't grow attached to one.
Yet even so,
the reason he felt a twinge of pity for this slave—
was surely because
this slave
was smiling through tears.
"I asked what value you had left, having lost your family's affection."
"……Yes."
"You're his property. His Lordship wouldn't own something worthless."
"……."
"Your value is in the money you bring. Know your place, slave."
"……Thank you."