Fire and the Breakout
After finishing off the servants who had come out with Lady Eitz, the mercenaries posted themselves against the door and the windows. Anyone left inside the manor was a noble—poorly trained nobles at that—and the fools would come blundering out soon enough.
"Why aren't they coming out?"
"You don't think there's a tunnel under the manor, do you?"
"Don't talk shit. We already checked—there's nothing like that."
"Should we go in and finish it before the main force arrives?"
The horn blast earlier had been a signal to the other mercenaries camped at a distance. Karamap preferred certainty. He had kept dozens of men in reserve against just such a contingency.
These men would secure the fief completely, and if anything went wrong, they would become the pursuit force.
"Hey. Sir Karamap told us to surround the place so nobody slips out."
"Who said anything about not surrounding it? I'm saying we send in just two, and kill them. Isn't it better to go in and cut them down first than wait around for the bastards inside to come to their senses and arm themselves?"
At one mercenary's words, the others' faces lit with interest. They'd already been paid, but there was more money to be had depending on how many Eitz men they could put down.
Once the main force arrived, they'd have to split the take with them. But if they went in and finished the job first, it was all theirs.
The mercenaries sought permission from Yein, Karamap's squire.
"Lady Yein. May we go in?"
"Wouldn't it be wiser to wait and enter together once the main force arrives? If a small group gets ambushed in there, that would be a problem."
"Ha. Worry not, my lady! If I fall to that rabble, you can have my own hand cut off!"
The mercenaries bellowed their boasts. These were men who had spent their lives crawling through battlefields. The idea of losing to a house of supposed knights like the Eitz seemed laughable.
That Eitz boy won't be so easy, though.
Yein frowned as he thought of Johan. Even without experience, the sheer strength and size the boy had been born with were weapons in themselves. Careless, and the mercenaries could lose.
But the mercenaries had a point—killing them before they came to their senses wasn't a bad plan. If the men inside started arming themselves with the manor's weapons and digging in, the casualties would only pile up.
More than anything, the death of one or two mercenaries changed nothing about the matter. Dozens more were already closing in.
To Yein, the mercenaries' lives were worth no more than those of the servants of this manor. That was simply how nobles were. Hired hands paid with coin, not soldiers they had raised themselves. If they went in and finished quickly, good. If they died, no matter. That was what they'd been paid for in the first place.
Yein nodded.
"Three. I'll allow three. The rest hold your positions."
"Thank you, my lady!"
The mercenaries eagerly drew lots on the spot. Being one of the three chosen meant extra silver was all but promised.
If I ever see a black wolf again and don't run, I'm not a man.
Johan sighed and shut the wooden window. Gesen hadn't come inside—just kept yelling in the courtyard—so, wondering what was going on, Johan had crept upstairs and cracked the window open. What he found was the worst possible scenario unfolding.
Sir Karamap had killed Gesen, then Lady Eitz, and then ordered everyone put to the sword. He couldn't fathom the reason, but one thing was certain.
If he stayed put, he died.
If only he'd bolted a single day earlier. Johan shook his head and cast off the regret. He had to focus on the situation at hand.
After the horn had sounded, torches had flickered into view in the distance, swaying as they approached. The reserves, without a doubt. Even at a glance there were more than a few dozen of them.
In that moment, Johan gave up on fighting here. Meeting Kaegal had given him confidence, but he was not so confident as to fight dozens of seasoned mercenaries alone. That would be arrogance.
If I'm surrounded and fighting, even if I put down a few, the moment one stabs or cuts me, I'm done for...
Johan recalled Kaegal's teaching. Fleeing when you couldn't win was nothing to be ashamed of.
The question was how, and where?
Even standing there at their ease, the mercenaries had positioned themselves properly to cut off anyone bolting from the manor. Nothing about the way they gripped their weapons suggested even a flicker of carelessness.
So I have to punch through.
He couldn't avoid the fight entirely. He'd have to find the weakest of them, kill him in a single strike, and break a path. Johan laid out a plan in his head with rapid precision.
"D-don't come any closer!"
"Oh dear, milord. Your legs are shaking like leaves."
"And that's supposed to swing a sword? You've got to put your back into it. Right?"
The mercenaries snickered and sneered at Fern and Yan. The half-brothers had evidently been woken by the commotion outside. They had been different from Johan, though. Like idiots, they'd run straight for the stairs and run right into the mercenaries coming up.
What—they weren't just staying outside?
Had they gotten bored of waiting? It was possible. Johan walked down the corridor, angling toward the stairs.
Thud.
Fern and Yan collapsed as the strength drained from their legs. They'd wet themselves, apparently—the stench rose from their soaked trousers. The mercenaries climbing the stairs jeered at them, weapons in hand. There was no pleasure quite like killing arrogant nobles like this.
"Milord noble. Go on—beg us for your life. We just might spare you."
"P-please... I've got money hidden away! Spare me and it's yours!"
"Oh? And where's it hiding?"
The mercenary's face brightened. Hidden silver from a noble could be a tidy sum.
"It's..."
Fern's eyes rolled frantically. Even without experience, he wasn't a fool. Giving up the location with no promise in hand would be idiocy.
"Clever little shit, aren't you."
"AAAAAGH!"
With a wet shhk, blood sprayed from Fern's leg. The mercenary had jabbed him with the tip of his weapon.
"That's enough, boy. I don't need you to tell me—I can find it myself. You'd have stashed it behind a wall or under the bed at most. You think I've never looted a noble's house or two?"
The mercenary kicked Fern away. Fern crawled along the floor, dragging himself, trying to escape. The mercenary tracked him with his eyes—and then noticed someone standing at the head of the corridor.
"Huh?"
Once.
One swing was enough to take a man's head off.
Crack!
Johan's monstrous strength sheared clean through the unwary mercenary's neck. A fountain of blood burst out and drenched Fern's face.
"Wh—whuh? Wha...?"
The mercenary behind him panicked and swung his sword. It wasn't a thought-out action. It was something his body did, honed by years of experience.
Johan charged like a beast. Before the mercenary's sword could even complete its arc, Johan batted it out of the air.
CRUNCH—
The impact bent the man's arm backward and tore his torso open.
And one strike, straight into the exposed body.
The mercenary who took the blow was the most experienced of the men who'd followed Karamap, and the best-armored. For a mere sellsword, he wore full chain mail over his whole body, with iron plate layered on top of that.
It meant nothing against Johan's strength.
His body split half open from shoulder to flank, and blood and viscera gushed up a second time. The mercenary died without so much as a sound. The last of the three screamed in terror and tried to call to his comrades outside.
"FUCK! There's a monster in he—"
Once Johan had drawn blood, he did not stop. The longsword flashed and skewered the man's throat. The mercenary gave a strangled gurgle, wheezed out a breath, and dropped to his knees.
That all of them?
Johan looked down at his battered old longsword, the one he'd carried for years. It was filthy with blood and shreds of gore. But it wasn't the filth that concerned him—it was the blade itself. That last swing had felt like far too much force behind it.
First thing: take this bastard's weapon.
"You... you... you...!"
Yan and Fern pointed at Johan, unable to get a full sentence out. What they'd just witnessed had apparently shaken them to their cores.
"You killed Sir Karamap's men! What do you think happens when the reckoning comes?!"
"...And you're spouting that shit right now? Idiots. Look outside. That bastard Karamap unleashed his mercenaries to kill every last one of us."
Only then did the two seem to come back to themselves.
"Where's your other brother?"
"Waiting in his bedroom... wait, why did you save us?"
Fern asked, bewildered. He'd never imagined Johan would lift a finger for them. Things had never been good between them. Every time they saw Johan they'd mocked him, and Johan, when the mood struck, had knocked them around.
"Would you have rather I left you to die?"
"Ah—no. That's not what I..."
"I don't like you. But I don't hate you enough to leave you to die. That's all."
"...Thank you."
Fern and Yan nodded their gratitude. Then, seeing Johan in full battle kit, they spoke up.
"We'll grab weapons too and fight alongside you! If we can just hold out until Father..."
"Lord Gesen is dead. Karamap killed him earlier. By now, every armed man near the manor is being cut down, and the serfs won't come running to help us. So stop spouting shit and start thinking about running."
The words froze them stiff. Too many truths had come pouring out at once for them to process.
"Father..."
Slap!
Johan backhanded him across the face. Fern stared at him, dazed.
"What...?"
"Snap out of it."
"Y-you little... You could just TALK instead of hitting me!"
"I don't have time to coddle you. I'm punching my way out of here. Right now."
"Wait! Me too!"
"No. Yan."
When Fern stopped him, Yan looked at him as if to ask why not.
"We're... we'd just be dead weight."
"Oh, because Father stabbed your leg? Don't worry! I'll carry you on my back and run..."
"You idiot. He means with your skills, you're dead weight."
Johan chided him bluntly. It was the plain truth. Unable to handle even a single mercenary, where exactly did the boy think he was breaking out to? Yan had no rebuttal—only a red face.
"But, brother. If we stay here, we really will..."
"That much is true..."
Fern licked his dry lips. He had no idea what to do. Johan picked up one of the mercenaries' longswords and said,
"There is one way."
"Wh-what is it?"
"We set it on fire."
"...!"
At first, the mercenaries thought they were seeing things. Flames were beginning to leap up from the manor's windows.
"Wh—what the hell—!"
"Which son of a bitch set a fire?! Are they insane?!"
Karamap had strictly forbidden torching the place—it would make identifying the dead impossible. Besides, there was plunder inside. No mercenary alive was stupid enough to burn it.
"It has to be the idiots who went in! Those dumb bastards must have knocked something over while fighting and started it!"
"Those bastards... the second they come out, they're dead!"
The mercenaries cursed the comrades who'd gone in first. It never occurred to them that the Eitz household themselves had set the fire. What kind of lunatics torch the building they're standing in?