Chapter 2: First Companion (1)
First Comrade (1)
Whoooosh—!
The icy night wind violently whipped through my hair.
I leaped from the high window ledge of the viscount's estate, rolled twice across the roof tiles, and made a rough landing in the bushes of the forest. Though I absorbed the impact with my knees, a sharp pain shot from my right shoulder down my spine to my lower body.
"Ugh..."
This was the price of forcibly executing top-tier Quick-draw Techniques and footwork with the crude magic power of a 3rd Class.
My muscle fibers were micro-tearing, my tendons screaming in protest. In my past life, I could've shaken off this level of magical recoil with a single breath from my heart, but this frail body was already pushed far beyond its limits.
Melting into the deep forest shadows, I leaned against a tree trunk to catch my breath.
Ssshhhk.
I channeled my will into the spatial artifact stolen from Viscount Cassian—the Silver Serpent Ring. Neatly organized within were sacks of gold coins, ancient artifacts, and high-grade potions I'd swept from his vault.
Retrieving one blue-tinged intermediate healing potion, I bit off the cork with my teeth.
Gulp, gulp.
As the pungent, bitter liquid slid down my throat, the magic power around my dantian faintly circulated, beginning to soothe my torn shoulder muscles.
'That should stabilize things for now.'
Exhaling roughly, I examined the artifact resting on my palm—the Seal of Projection.
An artifact I'd risked my life to excavate from deep within ruins in my past life. When infused with magic power, it could perfectly replicate another's magical signature or conceal one's own identity—an ancient illusion artifact.
This was how that trash Cassian had stolen my achievements, branded me a wanted man, and schemed behind my back in my past life.
"Now it's mine."
I pocketed the Seal deep within my clothes.
The threatening letter left on Cassian's desk and the original copies of his corruption ledgers now in my possession—Count Crois would panic the moment he saw the bloodbath in the reception hall. With his lifeblood—the bribery ledgers and records of imperial collusion—gone without a trace, he'd be too busy covering it up as a bandit attack or heart attack to issue any wanted notices.
No need to worry about being hunted as a noble killer.
'Now, to move.'
My destination: the northern Brünnhilde Kingdom.
Adjusting my dantian's magic flow, I quickened my pace. Emerging from the forest onto a main road used by night caravans, I tossed a few gold coins to hitch a ride northward on a merchant wagon.
Clatter, clatter.
Listening to the wagon wheels roll over gravel, I closed my eyes.
The northern Brünnhilde Kingdom. There awaited the first person I'd failed to save in time during my past life—a tragic figure who'd met a miserable end.
Eleanor Bernice, Commander of the Reinhark Knights.
Her story was tragedy incarnate. The great heroine who'd saved the kingdom by acting as the northern bulwark during the Ten Years War against the Empire. Yet what awaited her after the war wasn't praise, but the jealousy and schemes of sycophants and the Crown Prince.
Fearing Eleanor's overwhelming combat prowess might make her a political rival, the Crown Prince used the peace treaty with the Empire as pretext to drive her to her doom.
'A political marriage to the Empire's aged Duke.'
In name a political marriage, in reality a vile transaction—disbanding her knight order and delivering Eleanor as a hostage to the imperial court, a plaything for an old duke.
In my past life, Eleanor's Reinhark Knights were annihilated by the kingdom and empire's despicable pincer attack. While all assumed her dead, Eleanor barely escaped with her life into the shadows.
And to evade imperial pursuit, to sever all ties with the homeland that betrayed her... she took a branding iron to her own beautiful face.
Fire scars. A woman who always wore a deep hood, her face half horrifically melted, swinging her sword in silence.
She lived as a nameless mercenary until meeting my past self, becoming my mercenary band's perfect blade and closest comrade.
And in my past life's final moments, she fought to protect me from the schemes of shadowy forces, bleeding out alongside me.
Her voice on drunken nights, fingers tracing her twisted scars, still echoed in my ears:
'Commander, chivalry and loyalty are all bullshit. The homeland that raised me threw me to the wolves, and I ended up branding my own face to live like a rat. Should've killed them all back then.'
In my past life, I met her too late—her face already irreparably ruined, her heart festering with despair and vengeance.
But now was different.
The treaty hadn't been signed yet. Eleanor's silver hair still shone dazzlingly, those noble cheeks untouched by horrific flames.
'This time, not a single flame will touch that face, nor a single scratch mar that pride.'
She bled for me in my past life. Before her homeland's betrayal could break her, before chains could be clasped around her neck, I'd claim her first.
After three days and nights of nonstop travel, I arrived at Krantz, a border fortress city in northern Brünnhilde.
The icy northern wind clawed at my cheeks. The further from the capital, the weaker the lord's influence grew, replaced by the metallic stench and blood-reek unique to bleak military cities.
Pulling my hood low, I entered the Black Bear's Mug, a large tavern at the city center. No better place to gather intel and gauge the atmosphere.
Creeeak—
As the door opened, a wave of raucous noise hit me—dull beer smells and mercenaries' bloodthirsty banter.
Securing a corner table, I slapped a gold coin onto the wood.
"Your strongest drink. And recent news about the northern knights."
The bartender's eyes gleamed as he snatched the coin, producing a steaming mug.
"From out of town, eh? Only one topic up north lately—Eleanor Bernice of the Reinhark Knights."
"Progress?"
"Don't get me started. His Highness the Crown Prince arrived near the border at 'Eisen Castle' with the Empire's peace delegation. Officially for the peace treaty, but... who doesn't know the truth? The signing ceremony handing Commander Eleanor to Duke Eisen happens the day after tomorrow."
The bartender lowered his voice, glancing around.
"Even the knights are furious. Reinhark knights were drawing swords left and right, but Commander Eleanor's suppressing them herself. Won't let them become rebels on her account."
'Foolishly noble.'
I swallowed a bitter mouthful, feeling my chest grow colder.
This was her reward for dedicating her youth to her homeland—becoming some old duke's concubine. And even now, she endured without resistance to protect her knights.
Then—
BANG!
The tavern door burst open as three men in ornate armor entered. Escort knights bearing both the kingdom's central order insignia and the imperial duke's crest.
"Hey, barkeep! Your finest drinks, now!"
They arrogantly claimed the central table, laughing boisterously without lowering their voices.
"Hahaha! You should've seen those northern hick knights' faces! Their precious commander becoming the imperial duke's bedwarmer!"
"What're they gonna do, huh? His Highness himself signed off on this political marriage. Rebelling means treason."
"That Eleanor woman though—face like they say. How long'll she last under that old duke? Kehaha!"
The tavern's atmosphere turned murderous. Northern mercenaries reached for their hilts, but these were imperial delegates and the Crown Prince's direct subordinates. None dared act.
Enjoying the tension, the men grew bolder.
"Prayed to her like some goddess, only for her to warm an imperial duke's bed. Northerners are all bark, no bite!"
Lewd, vile laughter filled the tavern.
Scrape.
I rose silently.
My 3rd Class magic power chilled as it intertwined with the mercenary king's killing intent slumbering in my soul's depths.
"Hey, hick merc. Got a problem?"
One imperial guard, noticing my gaze, rested his hand on his hilt.
"Watch your eyes. Unless you wanna die."
"Hey."
I approached their table and spoke softly.
"You're Duke Eisen's personal guards?"
"Huh? This crazy bastard—"
"Perfect."
My grip tightened on my sword's hilt.
The very culprits who'd driven her to brand her own face in my past life—the mouthpieces of that ugly political scheme—had walked right to me.
"Tell your master this—"
Shiiing—!
As the blade left its sheath, my 3rd Class magic power carved a piercing arc through the air.
"Eleanor's mine now, so tell that old bastard to clear out and scram."
Thwack—!
With those words, the imperial knight's pointing hand flew through the air.
"AAARGH! M-my hand!"
Blood fountained as the tavern plunged into stunned silence.
My patience ended with my past life. This lifetime's Eleanor Bernice will have no horrific burn scars.
Before any chains clasp her neck, I'll tear out the Empire's throat first.