Chapter 39: What It Means to Be a Commander (2)
Chapter 39: What It Means to Be a Commander (2)
The moment they entered Roman territory, the air smelled of war.
The Emperor Faction sought profit under the Emperor, while the Noble Faction fought to protect its established interests. People who smelled money in that conflict came pouring in from every direction.
Groups of mercenaries, ranging from small bands of a few dozen to large companies of several hundred, marched forward. Merchants following them, travelers moving alongside for safety, and camp followers were a bonus.
Watching the scene, Eugene found himself puzzled.
"Full-scale war hasn't even broken out yet. Isn't this moving a bit too early? Bringing several hundred men with no work lined up would make anyone's stomach cramp with anxiety."
The mercenary captain laughed at the blunt expression, hardly the sort of thing a noble would normally say.
"Arriving early and failing to secure a contract is a burden, yes. But there are advantages too."
"What kind of advantages? That you can claim the contracts from powerful nobles first?"
When gambling with your life, naturally you had to side with the one more likely to win. If a viscount and a baron fought, everyone would want to join the viscount's army.
"There is that, but in the early stages of a war, wages don't get delayed."
"...I keep forgetting the common sense of this place."
It was a simple and somewhat deflating reason.
"If you join midway through a war, plenty of people are hiring, so work is easy to find. Those desperate for troops offer high pay too. But you're just as likely to get stiffed. Anyone who's been a mercenary long enough has been stiffed at least once."
At the mercenary captain's words, a flood of grumbling curses against former employers erupted from all around.
"I'll never do that, so don't worry. I'm the kind of man who even hugs members of the Black Hand Mercenary Company."
Listening to his men's laughter, Eugene swept his gaze over those marching in the distance.
'The level of armament is definitely different from Bonyard.'
They looked the part of men who had jumped into a real war to make their fortune. There were many mounted mercenaries, and some even wore chainmail like knights.
Nor were humans on the ground the only ones busily moving.
Coo-cooo!
Cawww!
Pigeons and crows moved in all directions, each with a message tied to its leg. Some would be internal missives binding allied houses together, others secret orders that would decide the fates of hundreds.
For a while the road was lively with people pouring in from every direction, but farther on the smell of death replaced that bustle.
"Was there a fight?"
Ahead lay nine corpses.
"Looks like they attacked a rookie mercenary company because it seemed easy prey. About half fought back. The rest knelt and begged before being stabbed in the throat or back."
A mercenary who had examined the bodies reported.
"Tch! This is what happens when greenhorns come up here on their own."
"Damn it all, spoiling my appetite from the start."
The ambushed mercenaries were mostly in their late teens to mid-twenties. Only one, who appeared to be the captain, was middle-aged.
"From now on, night watch will be thorough. Do not forget that this is a place crawling with men who can turn into bandits at any moment."
"Worry not, Sir Knight. Every man here is someone who survived going through that very process."
None of Eugene's mercenaries needed to be warned into vigilance at this point. Still, the dangerous signs that kept appearing were enough to draw curses from them.
"Again?"
"Ugh, that smell."
The mercenaries covered their noses at the stench of smashed carts and trampled salted fish.
"The situation seems worse than I had thought."
Varda nodded, wrapping a handkerchief around her nose.
"At this level, it's hard to call this the random violence of bandits."
"Men hired by hostile lords are roaming about, I presume?"
"Most likely. A kind of skirmish, in other words."
The letter of invitation had contained no word of war. Considering the distance, the situation must have deteriorated rapidly after it was sent.
"From here on, it's the territory of the Morad family."
The scout returned and reported. Like it or not, there was no turning back now; they could only keep moving forward.
The next plunder they encountered was in progress. Mercenaries turned bandits had descended on a small village and were running riot.
"Aaaaaah!"
The feet of a farmer being dragged by his hair drew lines in the dirt. The sound of women and children weeping came from all around.
Most were busy ransacking houses, so only a few were visible outside. Those few, drunk on their own high spirits, failed to notice Eugene's quietly approaching party.
"Shall we charge in? Judging by the village's size, the ones doing the looting are roughly our number."
The mercenaries wore looks that begged for the attack order to be given. Not because they were righteous, but because they coveted the spoils. Ambushing looters alongside a knight made victory all but a certainty.
"This will serve as a modest gift for the Morad family."
The mercenaries inwardly cheered and drew their weapons.
Clink.
Eugene likewise drew his flail.
Gulp.
"You're finally using it."
"Didn't he crack a warg's skull in one blow with that thing?"
The mercenaries watched the vicious-looking, oddly shaped polearm with anticipation in their eyes.
"Charge."
At Eugene's command, the mercenaries rushed in as one.
None raised a battle cry. The later the looters in each house came out, the easier it would be to defeat them piecemeal. They were veterans who handled such things without needing to be told.
"What the—?"
A man stepping out with a basket full of fruit froze before the knight charging at him with terrifying momentum.
"W-We act under the command of His Majesty the Emperor—"
"Subcontracted through layers of subcontracting, I'm sure."
As if there was no need to hear more, Eugene swung his flail.
CRACK!
The bandit who had invoked the Emperor's name had his head wrenched 180 degrees around.
THUD!
Even though he had fallen face-down with his back toward the sky, his lifeless face was staring upward—the result of his head having been twisted completely around.
"Whoa!"
The ghastly sight gave the mercenaries goosebumps even as it reassured them. Being under a strong knight meant higher odds of survival and more chances to earn coin.
"What's going—ghurk!"
Bandits emerging from houses in response to the commotion outside were struck down by bolts and spears. They were all holding some piece of plunder in their hands, which slowed their reaction.
"Ambush!"
"Everyone out! This is no time to screw around!"
By the time they belatedly rushed out to fight, their numbers were already nearly halved.
A flail slammed into the chest of a mercenary dashing out of a house.
CRUNCH!
The man, his ribs utterly shattered, was hurled right back inside.
"I'll finish him!"
One of Eugene's men entered the house and came right back out. There had been no need.
"P-please, spare—"
Passing men-at-arms saw a couple armed with kitchen knives approach the fallen bandit. A moment later, a terrible scream rang out.
"Open the door! Open the door, I said!"
The bandits pounded on the tightly shut door, shouting.
Having come out to fight and seeing absolutely no chance of victory, they tried to hide back inside the houses. But the villagers held the doors shut, desperately resisting.
"Fuck! Open the damn door! If you don't, I'll kill you—ghk!"
Spears and axes lodged in the backs of the men who had been hammering convulsively on the door.
"We surrender!"
"Please, mercy!"
Reduced to three men and facing slaughter, the enemy cast down their weapons and raised both hands.
"Who are you men hired by?"
"Duran! Baron Duran."
Eugene looked at Varda. Roman was where she had mainly operated, so she knew the political situation among the nobles well.
"A noble house that wields great power. They own two silver mines and hold several trade hubs."
"A truly enviable house."
Money pouring in while you sat still, untouched by floods or droughts—wasn't that everyone's dream?
"In sheer power, they don't lose out to most countly houses."
"A baronial house, you mean?"
"A house's strength doesn't always match the rank of its title."
Goffrey had trained Eugene thoroughly as a knight and commander, but Eugene still lacked experience with the political dynamics of noble society.
"Besides, the Durans were originally a viscountly house. They were greedy people, the exact opposite of what Roman stood for, and had poor relations with the royal family. That's why I hear their title was demoted."
"Just hearing that, they sound like they'd get along splendidly with the Emperor."
"The Duran house and the Emperor likely don't particularly trust each other. They simply maintain a transactional relationship based on profit."
The Emperor had dared to proclaim himself despite the risks precisely because there were quite a few nobles willing to join hands with him.
Eugene looked down at the prisoners fervently begging for mercy.
"If you'll forgive us just this once, we'll mend our ways and live virtuously..."
Clink.
Eugene held up his flail, silencing the bandits.
"You are enemies of the house that invited me and parasites feeding on decent people. There's no reason to keep you alive."
"P-please, spare our lives—aaagh!"
The two prisoners who had been rubbing their hands together in desperate supplication were cut down by the mercenaries.
"I am Sir Eugene Meyer!"
Eugene shouted to the farmers who were cautiously peeking out their windows.
"I was on my way here at House Morad's invitation when I found these lawless plunderers and put them down!"
At the knight's dignified declaration, the villagers wept and gave their thanks.
After gathering the spoils, the mercenaries left the village with a strange exhilaration that was different from the satisfaction of victory or money.
The grateful looks from the villagers they had saved gave them a different kind of satisfaction, one they had never experienced in all their years as mercenaries.
Eugene's mercenaries had served all kinds of employers, but this knight was unlike any of them.
"Hoffman. Show me the wound."
"Yes, Sir Knight."
The sole injured mercenary pulled up his sleeve.
"You really don't need to do that yourself, Sir Knight..."
"Is it not a wound of honor, earned saving a child taken hostage? With only one man hurt, I'll tend to it myself."
The mercenary captain, who had been about to object, quietly stepped back.
Hoffman was built like a bear and had a rough face, but contrary to his appearance, he was a genuinely righteous man.
"You won't live long as a mercenary. Getting yourself hurt for no good reason. If you get properly skewered somewhere doing that, your life's over just like that."
"Lay off him. It was still a damn good thing to do, wasn't it? We need men like him if people are ever going to think better of mercenaries. Being looked at like a bandit-in-waiting everywhere we go is shitty enough."
"That's true."
His comrades alternated between cursing him out and praising him.
Everyone besides Hoffman was unharmed. That was only natural, since a heavily armed knight and solid mercenaries had charged scattered, distracted enemies.
Eugene washed the cut, roughly three knuckles long, with water and then applied Varda's ointment.
"Does it hurt?"
"No."
"Then why that expression?"
Hoffman's face was twisted, even though the wound wasn't bad enough to make a veteran mercenary flinch.
"I've never had a captain—no, a knight—look after me like this before."
"Ah, so that was it."
The expression wasn't from pain; he was deeply moved.
He had taken an unnecessary wound out of compassion. By mercenary standards, that might even make him unfit for the job.
-The death god loves a kindhearted mercenary most of all.
It was practically common wisdom among mercenaries. To Eugene, however, the saying meant something different.
'A man like this is exactly the type to nurture into a trusted retainer.'
He couldn't keep commanding only mercenaries bound by coin forever. He needed trustworthy vassals who possessed both skill and character.
Eugene intended to offer promising men among the mercenaries a place as his direct retainers. The man in front of him easily met the standard.
While Eugene finished the treatment by wrapping a bandage, Varda was also giving instructions to the mercenaries.
"Butterfly nettle, wandering grass, and muffler mushroom, you mean? I know the first two."
"I know the muffler mushroom."
A mercenary from a hunter background and another from a woodcutter background raised their hands.
"They should be growing in abundance around here."
Varda pointed out several spots with her finger. True to an elf who wielded forest magic, she had instantly grasped what plants grew wild even in a region she was visiting for the first time.
They gathered medicinal and aromatic herbs whenever they had the chance. There was no need to buy them in a shop, and freshly picked plants worked better anyway.
"I'll assign two more mercenaries to you. Go collect them. They are needed continuously for ointments and insect repellent."
"We'll return within two hours. We'll also teach the lads how to distinguish the herbs while we're at it."
"Excellent."
Varda nodded in satisfaction. They weren't veterans for nothing; one order was enough for them to understand two things.
Even though this was menial work mercenaries normally wouldn't be asked to do, they obeyed without complaint because they had seen Hoffman treated with those same medicines.
They had seen countless mercenaries die from small wounds that festered or come down with fever after venomous insect bites in camp.
Fweeeet!
At Homi's whistle and hand signal, the donkeys lined up in a row before the shallow stream and quenched their thirst.
"Do you remember what I said before—that I could sense the spirits of beasts following Homi?"
"Of course. I haven't forgotten a single thing you've said, Varda-nim."
"Heh."
While Varda smiled softly, Homi was neatly arranging the three warhorses as well.
It was a talent she had acquired at some point after spending all day riding and communing with her desert warhorse, Sandy.
"That is an ability beyond the realm of skill."
"Is it some kind of magic?"
"It seems a little different. Magic, whether great or small, drains physical and mental strength. Homi, though, handles the beasts as naturally as if she were simply talking to them."
Thanks to Homi, managing the donkeys was easy. Even during battle, they didn't run away but held their position at a suitable distance.
Her beast-commanding ability had only just begun to bloom, making Eugene eager to see how far it would develop.
"Heaven took away her voice and gave her something else in return. Truly, both knight and squire are full of surprises."
Varda looked back and forth between Eugene and Homi with an expression of fascination.
"That makes three of us, including you, Varda-nim. Please don't forget that you share our fate now."
"Right. I had forgotten."
She was certain there was no other group in the world quite as distinctive and capable as this small party.