Ghosts of the Past
The Black Fang Mercenary Group.
Though the name sounded grand, they were actually a third-rate outfit—or worse. They wandered the eastern reaches of the continent, scraping by on simple chores for rural villages or basic transport requests.
When even those modest commissions dried up, they would scavenge war-torn regions like hyenas, looting whatever spoils they could find.
Having rolled in the dirt with them for several years myself, I knew their habits better than anyone.
"To think those bastards would be all the way out here on the western edge..."
It was undeniably bizarre.
Frowning, I stared at the emblem of the Black Fang Mercenary Group hanging in the street.
Their primary stomping ground was the eastern continent.
Even according to my memories from before my regression, the group should be roaming the battlefields of the east right about now.
Why would a pathetic, third-rate mercenary group make the long trek all the way to Rodel, a city nestled right next to the Mist Valley?
"Money, obviously."
Gerkin, the leader of the mercenary group, was a miser who would do absolutely anything for a coin.
Which brought one distinct possibility to mind.
...Because I ran off with their funds, their finances must have hit rock bottom.
For a man like Gerkin, who was obsessed with luxury and pleasure, desperation would have driven him to any means necessary to secure a massive payout.
Ultimately, the Black Fang Mercenary Group he led had traveled to this city in the western continent.
And by sheer coincidence, this was Rodel—right next to the Mist Valley, where the dark mages were scheduled to gather in just a few days.
There's no way it's a coincidence.
There was only one logical conclusion.
They've been hired by the dark mages.
Promised an astronomical sum, they were likely doing the kind of dirty work that normal commissions would never entail.
"...Pathetic bastards."
There had been no mention of the Black Fang Mercenary Group during our mission briefing.
This meant the Benheim family's intelligence network had failed to detect the collusion between the mercenaries and the dark mages.
"Should I go poke around?"
I could report this to Valen, our field commander.
But the Black Fangs were once the people I shared meals with.
Even if we had parted as enemies, there was still a lingering shred of history between us.
So, I wanted to confirm with my own eyes whether they had truly sold their souls to the dark mages, or if they had simply wandered here by chance.
If my suspicions were correct and they were indeed acting as the dark mages' lapdogs...
I'll have to put them down with my own hands.
I shed my Benheim robe and slipped out of the manor while the other squad members were busy resting and recovering from the journey.
But before I could even clear the estate's perimeter fence, a voice called out to me.
"Where are you going?"
I turned around to find a boy with short-cropped blonde hair standing there.
"Brock."
Brock, a collateral descendant of the Benheim family, was staring at me with a puzzled expression.
"You're participating in this operation too, Brock?"
"It's the Patriarch's orders. He said clashes with dark mages will only become more frequent from now on, so he mobilized all collateral members over the age of seventeen just in case."
"...Under the guise of live-combat training, I suppose."
Come to think of it, the collateral members had trained alongside us under Valen last month.
It seemed the Patriarch intended to drag them along to real battlefields to build up their experience.
"Anyway, Raygan, where on earth are you heading?"
"Well..."
"If you leave the base without permission, Vice-Captain Valen is going to be furious. He said stealth is absolutely vital for this operation."
"It's fine. I don't plan on getting caught anyway."
With that, I tried to step past the gate, but Brock blocked my path.
"You clearly don't know how terrifying Vice-Captain Valen is when he actually loses his temper. Don't do anything stupid."
"...Tsk."
Brock was a guy who didn't possess a single shred of flexibility. He had been like that in my past life, and he was exactly the same in this one.
I could easily overpower him and leave, but that would undoubtedly cause a scene. It would only be a matter of time before Valen caught wind of my absence.
This is getting annoying.
After a moment of deliberation, I looked closely at Brock's face.
Right now, Brock was still just a young boy. A sheltered greenhouse flower raised entirely within the safe walls of Benheim, completely ignorant of the harsh realities of the world. One look at those eyes burning with a naive sense of justice told me everything.
And because of that, a rather brilliant idea struck me.
"Brock, listen to me very carefully."
Thud.
I placed my hands firmly on his shoulders. As I put on a deadpan, serious expression, he swallowed hard and nodded frantically.
"I am currently on a secret mission."
"A-a secret mission?"
"Yes. An assignment handed down directly by the Patriarch himself."
The moment I invoked the Patriarch's name, Brock gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth.
To a Benheim mage, Patriarch Stern's authority was absolute. Naturally, Brock didn't doubt me for a second; he swallowed the lie hook, line, and sinker.
"The—the Patriarch himself?!"
"Shh. Keep your voice down, Brock."
I pressed a finger to my lips. Once Brock quieted down, I continued in a solemn, grave tone.
"Think about it. The dark mages aren't fools. They must have anticipated that we might launch a direct assault. It's highly likely they have scouts hiding in a small city like this."
"I-is that so...?"
"Exactly. That's why we need to identify any dark mages lurking in the city beforehand. The Patriarch entrusted me with that very task."
If Brock questioned why someone like me was given such a crucial task, I had a few excuses lined up.
But to my surprise, he accepted it readily—in fact, he nodded with a look of pure awe in his eyes. It seemed the rumors of me being chosen as Benheim's son-in-law and receiving a treasured sword had lent my words some serious weight.
Well, it worked out perfectly for me since he was so gullible.
"Brock, I'm heading out to execute the mission now. If Valen notices I'm gone and questions you, tell him you didn't see anything."
"U-understood."
Brock nodded reluctantly. But his eyes were darting around anxiously, and cold sweat was already trickling down his temples.
He's going to crack immediately.
Brock was terrible at lying. Instead of leaving him behind only for him to blow my cover, it would be much safer to drag him along and make him an accomplice.
"Brock, on second thought... I think I can trust you."
"Huh? Really?"
"As you know, the very fate of Benheim hangs on this mission. It would certainly be safer to have a skilled partner by my side rather than going alone."
I put extra emphasis on the word "skilled." Brock swallowed hard.
"B-but... Raygan... we're strictly forbidden from leaving the premises..."
"Think about it, Brock. This is a secret mission for Benheim, ordered by the Patriarch himself. Are you really going to throw away this opportunity? If we succeed, even that strict Vice-Captain Valen will see you in a whole new light."
Brock was an eighteen-year-old greenhorn at best.
The allure of a "secret operation" was far too sweet to resist.
"...No, wait! I'm coming with you! We're partners, after all!"
He took the bait beautifully.
Unlike the refined, orderly cities of the east, the streets of Rodel possessed the raw, rugged charm characteristic of the western frontier.
A dry wind blew from the direction of the canyon, carrying the scent of cheap ale that wafted from every corner, while rough men with weapons slung at their hips swaggered down the streets.
To me, having spent my days as a wandering mercenary primarily in the west, it was a deeply familiar sight.
"...It's really... how should I put it... tense out here."
But to Brock, this was an entirely alien world. He followed closely behind me, his steps tense and hesitant.
Perhaps to shake off his anxiety, Brock was the first to speak.
"B-by the way, Raygan, is it true you reached the 4th-tier? The Rune Sentinels said they all saw it."
"Yeah, something like that."
"That's amazing. Honestly... now I understand why the Patriarch gave you that elixir."
Brock stole a glance at me.
Seeing him offer a compliment—something he never usually did—it was clear he had something else on his mind.
"Is there something you want to say?"
"Well, it's just..."
Brock hesitated, shuffling his feet.
"If you don't mind... I was wondering if you could take a look at my magic. Like, mana manipulation... or tips on 4th-tier fusion Rune Magic... I listened to Vice-Captain Valen's explanations, but no matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to get it right..."
He was beating around the bush, but he was essentially asking me to help him train. It made sense; back when I was staying in the annex, Brock had been my sparring partner. Since I had moved to the main estate, he must have been training all by himself.
"I don't know. We'll see."
"Please! I'm begging you!"
For the fiercely proud Brock to bow his head like this, my breakthrough to the 4th-tier must have shocked him just as much as it had shocked Arno.
Well, Brock getting stronger was a welcome prospect for me too.
Though he was rigid, his talent was the real deal. His loyalty had also been proven through my experiences in my past life. If I trained him thoroughly now, he would become a reliable asset in the future.
"Sure, why not. We'll be staying in Rodel for a few weeks even after this operation is over anyway. I'll take a look when I have some free time."
"T-thank you!"
Only then did Brock's face brighten.
As we exchanged idle chatter, we soon arrived near the street where the Black Fang Mercenary Group was stationed.
"...Raygan, this place is..."
"The mercenary district. Simply put, it's a labor market. Any city of decent size usually has one."
I scanned the street.
The building flying the flag of the Black Fang Mercenary Group was a three-story stone structure—the largest and most luxurious building situated right in the heart of the district.
The location is far too good.
It was the prime spot in the entire mercenary district.
Renting a building of this scale in its entirety required a rent that even first-rate mercenary groups would struggle to afford.
Yet, the Black Fang Mercenary Group I knew was third-rate at best.
"It's completely beyond their means."
My suspicion hardened into certainty. This was clear proof that they had a massive financial backer.
"Hey, you. I have a question."
I addressed a scruffy boy crouching at the entrance of an alley. The boy grinned widely the moment I pulled a silver coin from my pocket.
In places like the mercenary district, there were always street urchins who acted as informants.
I tossed the silver coin to the boy and asked,
"Tell me everything you know about the people going in and out of that building over there."
"They're the Black Fang Mercenary Group, sir. Nasty folks. They've already gotten into several massive brawls with the other mercenary groups around here."
"What kind of work do they usually do?"
"Well, to be honest, I don't really know either. They don't show their faces at all during the day, but every single night, they bring in covered wagons."
"...Wagons?"
I frowned.
Unless the Black Fangs had suddenly decided to pivot into a merchant guild, this was highly suspicious behavior.
I tossed the boy another silver coin as a tip and set off.
Our destination was the loading dock where those wagons would be kept. Infiltrating the place wasn't difficult. Although the main gates were locked tight, they had forgotten to close the skylight, leaving a gap wide enough for us to slip through.
"R-Raygan, this is going a bit too far..."
"Brock, it's a secret mission. Quiet."
"Mph."
I gave Brock a warning look, then scanned the wagons parked inside the loading dock.
I pulled back the canvas cover of a particularly massive wagon.
The cargo bed was empty. But the traces left behind were unmistakable.
"...This is..."
Shackles rolling around on the floor.
Dark red bloodstains dried in the crevices of the wood.
And desperate scratch marks scoring the walls.
"Human trafficking."
These were clear, undeniable proofs that people had been crammed and locked inside like beasts.
Above all, there was a sickening energy permeating the interior of the wagon.
"And dark magic, to boot."
This distinct, foul stench was the residue of dark magic.
My brow furrowed deeply as the pieces fell into place.
"Despicable bastards."
Human trafficking.
Even for mercenaries, this was the absolute red line.
No matter how lawless they were, selling their swords for coin, treating fellow human beings like livestock was strictly taboo in the industry.
I had hoped it wasn't the case, but Gerkin had ultimately crossed the line.
"Tsk."
I let out a heavy sigh and yanked the canvas cover back down.
I had seen enough.
The Black Fang Mercenary Group had allied with the dark mages.
It was pure, unadulterated evil.
"Brock, let's go."
"Are we going to report this to the Vice-Captain?"
"No."
I glared past the loading dock toward the brightly lit headquarters of the mercenary group.
"First, I'm going to smash those bastards' heads in."