Struggle for Survival 4
Struggle for Survival 4
The Mongoose Mercenary Company accepted the offer. They had no other choice.
It was a mad army that outmatched them in every aspect—troop numbers, skill, equipment, ranged weapons, even powerful cavalry—and possessed knights and mages to boot.
They numbered less than 200, yet they were a terrifying elite force that could easily crush a mercenary group several times their size.
"Then we will at least take the monster corpses."
Denver spoke with a gloomy face.
They could not return empty-handed. Unlike Eugene's army, which received fixed wages thanks to its reputation and credit, the Mongoose Mercenary Company earned nothing when it sat idle.
If they brought back body parts from the small-folk, the city of Tripol would at least pay them a modest combat bounty.
"Hurry. We must leave this place before nightfall."
"Should we do noses or ears?"
"Ears, obviously, you moron. These aren't goblins, after all."
Noses or ears were usually taken as proof. They were compact, contained no hard bone, and had thin skin, making several easy to string together.
"You idiot! Get your head on straight! I said cut the right ear, not the left ear!"
The veteran soldiers, who had handed over the gold necklaces, rings, and silver coins they had painstakingly gathered, took their anger out on the new recruits. Those who had been caught trying to secretly pocket things and had been beaten for it were even more vicious.
"You're usually generous to those under you. What's gotten into you today?"
His subordinates all wore surprised faces, but Eugene had his own puzzlement.
"Those men are not my people. Moreover, is there any need to guarantee them even the goods they merely picked up by luck?"
"Though one could argue you should charge them for the lives you saved."
"If they had been a merchant company or pilgrims, I would have looked after them in my own way. It is good to befriend those who put down roots in a specific region and make their living through productive work. But I feel no such need for mercenaries."
Everyone sympathized with that last part. No matter the region, there was no need to treat mercenaries well.
"Still, no one but you, Sir, pays attention to every bit of food and drink the soldiers receive and even supplies their expendable gear."
Haind, who had gradually begun to recognize Eugene as his liege, defended him. That was something all his subordinates agreed upon.
A warrior in this era had to pay for everything from head to toe out of his own pocket. Eugene even treated men wounded in battle for free.
Such mercy could not be found even in the great temples of strong faith. If they told other mercenaries, they would only be treated as braggarts.
"It bothers me to watch things run that way."
Eugene, who had served in a standing army, simply could not endure the slipshod way the military operated here.
He understood the limitations of the era, but when it came to feeding and supplying the troops, he tried to recreate as much of the military system he knew as possible.
A ridiculous situation where, even with victory in hand, they agonized over whether to shoot because they begrudged the cost of javelins and bolts. He did not want to see such things.
"It would be best to make camp near the road. Though there is still time until night, we will not be able to reach the next campsite in time."
Eugene accepted the adventurer's advice and set up camp. The Mongoose Mercenary Company settled in a place a short distance away.
And once again, the armies on both sides keenly realized just how great the gap in their working conditions was.
While the Mongoose Mercenary Company gnawed on rock-hard dry rations, Eugene's army ate tender jerky, dried fruit, and nuts.
"Damn, this is too miserable to bear."
"So this is why they say mercenary work should be done under a great house."
The opposing camp laughed as they ate and drank, each having taken a share of the spoils the small-folk had plundered.
One mercenary belonging to Mongoose, standing watch, heaved a sigh that seemed to make the ground sink. He had always let nobles be nobles and moved on, but today, he could not help feeling this envious.
"The Castle Lord sent these."
"...!"
Yet when a servant sent over medicine for the wounded and a little liquor, that resentment melted away like snow.
* * *
The commander's tent, pitched wide in the nomad fashion at the center of the camp.
Eugene enjoyed the feel of Varda wiping him down with a damp towel. Made by Varda herself in the elven fashion, it was soft and held plenty of water.
'She really did make them in a curious way.'
The elven loom was different from what humans used. It felt closer to conducting than to crafting.
As ten fingers moved above like playing an instrument, ten toes below roamed like a spider walking upon a web.
Watching her weave while organically controlling all twenty appendages was more than wondrous; it was beautiful. Eugene imagined the Arachne of myth must have looked something like this.
"The small-folk, though physically weak, are extremely dangerous beings in their own domain. Achieving such a clean victory is no easy feat. You are remarkable."
"Preparing for their poison darts and traps helped a great deal, and they were distracted by the Mongoose Mercenary Company."
"Yet for all that, you did not share a single piece of the spoils with them, I see?"
"Is there anything more precious than the price of a life? Simply rescuing them from being eaten by the small-folk is enough. I have many mouths to feed, you see."
Eugene swept Varda's golden hair, disheveled from wiping him, back over her shoulder.
"Ngh."
As a bonus, he lightly tickled her long ear, and her shoulders flinched inward. She would have realized that she herself was included among those mouths to feed.
"Furthermore, there was reason to gather up all the victims' belongings."
On a table a little to the side lay religious symbols and implements plated in silver, pendants bearing the marks of specific trading companies, and the like.
He had set aside things that could be classified as mementos, separate from ordinary wealth like silver coins or trade goods.
Those who would brave the dangers to travel despite the state of the times were often affiliated with specific organizations.
"Do you intend to return them?"
"Yes. Once the subjugation is finished and we return to the city, we will hand them over to the relevant orders and merchant companies."
"A good thought. You are bestowing a favor that silver coin cannot buy. So that was the true reason you took all the spoils without mercy?"
"It must be gathered in one place to be properly identified. If I can create good relationships throughout the city at the cost of incurring the dislike of one mercenary group, it is no loss."
"You are right."
Varda nodded. Kind and generous as she was, she was cold toward mercenaries. Though there were hardly any people in this era who felt warmth toward mercenaries in the first place.
It was because they were beings to whom any negative label could be attached—prospective robbers, prospective murderers, prospective slavers, prospective swindlers.
"And it is uncertain whether that mercenary group will even still exist a few years from now."
A mercenary group was something that formed and disbanded daily, its members frequently rotating in and out. Whether the feelings were good or bad, they tended to scatter like grains of sand.
"More importantly, aren't you tired? Thanks to Varda-nim, the battle today ended easily."
"It was a trifling spell."
"Hardly trifling when one blow shattered the small-folk's will to fight."
The small-folk's basic method was to use darkness or undergrowth to strike and withdraw.
Watching the flow of battle and then hiding in unison at the right moment to throw their enemies into chaos was their most important strategy.
Even a troll could be caught off guard by that. No matter how powerful its regeneration, there was no answer once it had been riddled like a pincushion with poisoned darts.
The club swings that could kill a knight instantly struck only empty weeds. And the more strength they put in, the faster the poison spread.
With their sure-win strategy swept away in an instant, even the lesser demons could only stand there slack-jawed as a group.
"Compared to carving a path through a forest, this was a far simpler spell. It was merely asking the grass to lie down for a moment."
That was why nobles sought to hire mages and attach them to their armies. Sometimes a single simple spell could turn a battle drastically in their favor.
"You should have seen their faces the instant the undergrowth vanished. Not even an army of thousands pressing them could have drawn out a reaction like that. It was only possible because Varda-nim was with us."
"You're embarrassing me, so stop. It's not like flattery will get you anything."
Despite her words, Varda's touch as she wiped his body became ever more thorough.
"More than that, I'm curious how the hypnosis magic went."
"Seeing once is better than hearing a hundred times. Why didn't you just come and observe with us?"
"I couldn't possibly. It's a secret art of the Black Hand Clan. An outsider like me—an elf, no less—could hardly be allowed to spy on it."
It was a world where knowledge and techniques were passed down in closed circles. Magic, among all, was the most jealously guarded of such knowledge.
Moreover, Ophelia's magic was a treasure the Black Hand Clan had forged over long years through sacrifices large and small. Showing it to Eugene at all was extraordinarily rare.
"It was truly incredible. It felt as though Ophelia cast her hypnosis over the entire space around her, not just a single target. Even I, with my fairly strong resistance to magic, was caught up in it. It was the kind that mobilizes sight, hearing, and even smell..."
Watching Varda listen intently with her ears perked up, Eugene found himself suddenly curious.
If Varda had been in that place, what illusion would she have seen?
Would she have been able to once again enjoy the warm smile and embrace of her beloved nanny, Grace? Or would she have dreamed some other dream?
* * *
The next morning, while the Mongoose Mercenary Company trudged back toward the city, Eugene's army resumed its march in high spirits.
Eugene picked the settlement he had prioritized from the start among several colonies.
"We strike the Raksha refuge first."
"An excellent decision."
The adventurer nodded fervently. For the city of Tripol where he lived, the greatest menace was the Raksha.
The small-folk, vicious as they were, rarely ventured out of their deep jungle strongholds under normal circumstances. Even when they did, it wasn't difficult to repel them with proper raid preparations.
On the other hand, the Raksha, with their superior physiques and large-scale deployment of spearmen and javelin throwers, were opponents that even an army found hard to defeat easily.
"The spoils should also be richer than those from other sain or monsters. They love shiny things and collect them eagerly."
"Come to think of it, they were wearing quite a lot of trinkets in the last battle as well."
That was why Eugene's men often bent over, smiling broadly while confirming kills. Though among them, there were those who grimaced when they had to dispose of the young ones instead of looting jewelry.
"It's because they have a very strong matriarchal society. Their males are physically weak and few in number, so they are carefully tended. Consequently, the females compete fiercely in their courtship."
"So they adorn themselves to seduce the males?"
"Exactly. The Raksha do craft various things, but they are crude. At best, their ornaments are made from animal bones or teeth. They are nothing compared to the intricate metalwork of city artisans."
How many humans they raided and how much loot they brought back! That was one of the key factors determining a female's attractiveness in Raksha society.
"So it's not about a craving for meat, but the desire for pride and the opposite sex that drives them. No wonder they're far more troublesome than other monsters."
That clearly distinguished them from monsters driven by hunger alone. There was a reason they were classified separately as sain.
Thanks to Ophelia's hypnotic interrogation, Eugene's army was able to head toward the Raksha by the shortest possible route.
"Kiiik—."
"Kiiit—."
Two small-folk, muzzled and leashed, led the way at the head of the army with glazed eyes.
Ophelia could read their minds and knew the route herself, but as an outsider who had never been there, the small-folk's guidance would be more precise.
"It seems we are heading the right way."
The adventurer guiding them pointed to an abandoned cart half-buried in the sand. Its axle was broken.
"This is not a trail for people. If a cart was dragged all the way here and then abandoned after breaking down, it has to be the Raksha's doing."
"Did they loot a merchant caravan, load everything onto the cart, and then wreck it? They had no means to repair it, so they just abandoned it?"
"Precisely."
The cart was empty, and human bone fragments were scattered about.
"Damn."
The mercenaries cursed under their breath.
For the bones were riddled with lacerations that looked like they had been scraped by teeth. They could guess what a miserable fate the victims had met. It did not seem likely they had been mercifully killed before being eaten.
In Roman or Gord, it was not uncommon to see victims of beasts or monsters. They were all veteran mercenaries and had seen such traces many times before.
But it was rare to witness the kind of scene common in Samur — humans hunted in groups, cooked, and devoured.
"Stay sharp."
"This is an enemy where losing means there is no way back."
In a battle against humans, if you were lucky you might have your equipment confiscated and then be released. At worst, you could still hope for the mercy of being sold into slavery.
But in this fight, when defeat loomed, surrendering was not an option. They would chase you down relentlessly until the very last man, dragging you off.
That was why the Mongoose Mercenary Company and other hired warriors seldom pushed all the way to the main strongholds. A single defeat meant there was no coming back.
"This is why eradicating them is so hard."
"Usually we only deal with splinter groups that come down near the trade routes. Then they retreat, rebuild their strength, and attack again later..."
"That would simply go on forever. Good for the mercenaries, I suppose, since it means safe, steady work."
The adventurer gave a wry smile at Eugene's words.
To eradicate them properly, a great noble would need to muster a large army and drive all the way into their heartland. The Free Cities had no way to do that.
That was also why Eugene's army had received such exceptionally high regard.
His record of marching past the Shield Mountains of Gord and thoroughly crushing the gnolls. The city nobles placed their hopes on that.
"The enemy is in sight."
Just like now — the hope that he would push all the way into the Raksha stronghold.
At first glance, the scene resembled a mobile camp set up by a nomadic tribe of humans or dark elves.
Numerous tents similar to gers had been pitched, and whether it was mealtime, smoke from cooking fires billowed up here and there.
But at the entrance to the camp, flags made from the whole, flayed skins of humans fluttered in the wind.
"...O Lord!"
"Aaaagh!"
And along with it, screams full of pain and terror could be faintly heard on the wind.