Prologue: Meat Shield Mercenary
I'm a mercenary.
A meat shield, used up in every corner of the world until that fucking Demon King finally croaks.
Someone who doesn't get any spotlight anywhere, operating in the shadows of those so-called Hero's Party members.
That's me.
Regular folks only pay attention to the Hero's Party feats—they couldn't care less about how hard people like me are spinning our wheels behind the scenes.
"Hold off a 50,000-strong demon army for just one week, please."
Fuck, fuck...
No, Hero, you bastard...
If I could take on crazy requests like that, you'd be the one spinning wheels while I played Hero.
"Please take the commission, Evan."
...
Sigh.
You pretty little Hero shit. If you weren't so damn gorgeous, I'd really...
Ha...
"Fuck it... let's give it a shot."
Let me say it again: I'm just your average mercenary.
One with a reputation as the all-purpose fixer, though.
-- Prologue (End) --
Everyone has dreams.
Farmer, chef, guild receptionist... and so on.
The world is full of jobs that can be someone's dream.
But naturally, some are popular, others aren't.
The popular ones—well, less jobs and more like "what everyone wants to be in the future," I guess?
Anyway, for example...
"The Hero has returned after slaying the ferocious monster!!!"
"Woooaaahhh!!!!!!!"
The Hero, or something.
Or maybe,
"Heard the news? She's only 13 and already 4th Circle!!"
The mage traveling with the Hero.
And so forth.
Jobs that let you join the Hero's Party are the most popular by far.
But I was different from everyone else.
"Whoa there. You okay?"
Back when I was barely five years old.
A monster horde hit a small village on the outskirts of the Astra Empire—the empire where I lived.
I was just an ordinary boy living there, an orphan without parents.
Back then, I envied kids with moms and dads.
Seeing them hold hands, strolling through the village market or coming back with toys—it looked so damn happy to me.
That's why I longed for parents, dreamed of them.
But looking back now, maybe that sense of lack is what let me survive.
No one to look after but myself, so I bolted out of the village without hesitation.
Thanks to that, I got saved by a mercenary band passing through the nearby forest.
"Keruk!"
After they casually sliced through the goblins chasing me, the band's leader asked why they were after me.
I explained everything and led them back to the village, but by the time we arrived...
It was already burning, reduced to ashes.
I just stood there staring blankly, like some idiot mesmerized by the flames, but I didn't feel particularly torn up.
What stuck vividly in my memory even now was the terrified look on one mercenary's face as he patted my back and tried to comfort me.
I didn't learn until much later that expression was tied to the Demon King's revival.
Anyway, with nowhere to go, I ended up joining the mercenary band that saved me.
Some people ask me about it.
"They didn't force you into the band, did they?"
"Maybe they're making you pay off the rescue debt."
But that's just prejudice from the shitty social image mercenaries have.
The mercenaries I saw were more romantic and badass than the rumors suggested.
What people think mercenaries are: A cleanup crew handling dirty aftermaths.
Real mercenaries: Risking their necks to scout dungeon threats up front, keeping back-alley peace, clinking mugs in taverns at night to wash away the day's grind.
More than the Hero's Party returning in glory amid flower petals—something I could actually see every day, the ones who saved my ass firsthand—that's what appealed to me.
"You really gonna be a mercenary? Hate to say it, but there are way better jobs out there..."
"Yes."
"No one will even notice. If you like swords that much, knight's better—they get all the recognition! Steady pay too!"
"No. I'll be a mercenary."
"Sigh..."
The mercenary uncle clicked his tongue at me.
"Fine, do what you want."
That's how my mercenary life began.
Obviously, at first, all I could do was odd jobs.
The guild walls were plastered with commissions, but my mercenary rank—trust level—was rock bottom, so those were all I could take.
"Hey!!! You damn cat!!!!!! Get over here!?????"
Finding runaway fat cats.
"Grandpa!!!! Is it fixed now?????"
"It's good!!! No more leaks!!! Thank you!!!!!"
Repairing rundown houses.
"Already dug them all? Count... yep, exactly 20. I'll settle up right away."
Herb gathering in the woods near the village,
"Cheap! Cheap!!!!!! Closing sale, extra discount!!!!!"
And even hawking off bad inventory.
I scraped by doing crap like that day by day.
Oh, and just to be clear—this isn't me complaining.
I didn't hate helping people.
But I wasn't planning to do it forever either.
Thwack! Thwack!
I practiced swordsmanship daily by whacking wooden posts,
"Evan! Go take down that wolf beast!"
And tagged along on the band's monster subjugation gigs sometimes.
If luck was good, I'd get tips from some famous mercs on certain days.
Time passed like that, and this year I turned 18.
"Philip!!! Left flank!!! Block it no matter what!!!!!!"
"Fuck!!!!!! Send more guys!!!!!!!!!!"
"No guys left!!!!!!!!"
"Then recruit!!!!!!!!!!"
"No money!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Then earn some!!!!!!!!!!!"
"We get paid after we survive, you dumb fuck!!!!!! Shut up and hold the line!!!!!!!!!"
I'd climbed to commanding a whole unit in the band.
Don't want to brag, but my growth from zero trust to decent merc status was pretty damn fast.
A few who'd taught me said my talent was abnormal?
Some even asked me to be their disciple, but it never felt right, so I turned them all down.
Well... mostly because I could mimic their techniques after watching a few times.
Anyway.
Slash!
I beheaded the last remaining monster.
Black blood dripped stickily from the tip of my lowered sword.
"Any casualties?!?!?"
"Just slap on some salve and sleep it off!!!!!"
After checking no one was dead or gravely hurt, we headed to the nearest village.
They needed to know the threat was gone to live without worry.
"Thank you, young man."
"No problem. Just doing my job."
"Still grateful. Won't you stay for a meal? Village folk cook real good."
"Sorry, but we might be needed elsewhere, so gotta hustle."
The village chief nodded understanding and let us go.
"Call if anything comes up."
"I'd rather nothing does."
"Heh heh heh."
I left the villagers seeing us off and hit the road again.
This time, to collect proper pay.
Obviously, a small village like that couldn't afford our band.
We're the cheapest muscle you can hire, sure, but we don't work for free.
The ones who called us were from the big city called Rotten.
How big? Certhem Rotten, its lord, holds marquis rank.
On par with or even above counts sometimes.
Basically top-tier nobility.
Naturally, his castle's massive too.
Anyway, a marquis has way too much territory to cover.
Rotten's huge, and they guard the border nonstop against swarming beasts.
And it's not just the border.
Dungeons spawn inside too—monster lairs from demonic energy buildup. Before a Dungeon Break spills them out, you gotta raid and clear the core.
Even with marquis status and built-up forces, perfectly defending the whole domain's impossible.
That's where hires like us come in.
Our band especially has a good rep, so big cities like Rotten call us often.
So we arrived routinely to collect pay, but...
"Mr. Evan. Someone's looking for you."
Looks like an annoying extra step today.
'Another disciple pitch, probably.'
Doesn't happen often, just occasionally.
Word spread about my crazy talent...
I've brushed off plenty lately, so not as swamped as before.
'Beat 'em quick and send 'em packing.'
Challenge to a spar, see what they can teach.
How I'd dealt with them so far.
Clean, they accept it, no backlash.
My go-to template.
But... at a glance, this one waiting wasn't gonna be that easy.
"I'll pass your pay to someone else. Please follow me, Mr. Evan."
I nodded silently.
Normally, collect here and bounce.
Disciple-wanters usually wait at the guild.
But "follow me" means the one's inside the castle.
Someone with enough pull for marquis-level treatment.
"They're waiting here."
The servant bowed and vanished quietly.
I cautiously opened the door.
'Ha... something feels off.'
Merc senses tingling—definitely some huge pain in the ass ahead.
But what can you do? No choice.
I sighed deeply and gripped the handle.
Creeeak.
Sitting there when I entered was an old man.
I'd half-expected it, but he wasn't ordinary.
'Presence is... blurry.'
Like a ghost.
Could appear or vanish anytime...
Something utterly beyond my level to beat.
That was my first impression of the old man.
"Rolling your eyes around—you must have a lot on your mind."
His heavy bass crushed the air just from speaking, filling the room.
"Who'd face an elder without holding some leverage? Gotta grip the lifeline, right."
"If I meant to kill you, you'd be dead the moment you entered the castle."
"Just mercenary instinct, sir."
"...Your mouth shows no tension at all."
With that, an awkward silence stretched.
His abyss-like empty eyes pierced right through me.
Then, moments later, the old man stood first.
"Let's go."
He walked out without looking back.
Dead certain I'd follow.
'I'm not some dog that comes when called.'
............
Woof woof.