The Naive Heart (2)
A few days later, I visited the mercenary corps with Adam. I called him "brother" because he was two years my senior.
We waited in a long line, anticipating the recruitment interview.
“...Human?”
Soon, it was our turn. The mercenary managing the recruitment glared at Adam and me. The mere mention of our race carried a subtle, dismissive weight. But Adam answered in a booming voice.
“Yes, that is correct.”
“...Right, whatever. Doesn’t matter. You’re in.”
I had been staring straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with anyone, but I glared at the interviewer at how easily we were accepted. I had expected a physical fitness test or some kind of medical examination. But the listless Lizardman gave us a half-hearted explanation.
“Move to the back. There’s a place where everyone is sitting, so wait there for a while. Once you’re settled, they’ll explain the mercenary corps’ rules and training procedures.”
“Let’s go.”
I followed Adam. I quickly lost interest in the Lizardman’s lack of professionalism. However, Adam seemed to have felt something about our easy entry, too. He spoke up.
“It doesn’t matter who joins, anyway.”
“...”
“This is a place that bets on quantity over quality. They probably sacrifice dozens just to take down a single monster.”
Judging by the orientation, he was right. Even to someone as ignorant as I was, it was clear this corps didn’t care much for the well-being of its members.
“Meals are twice a day! Training schedules will vary from day to day!”
It was a far cry from the grand life they had promised. The life of a mercenary was barely any different from life in the slums. While the officers of the corps lived the glamorous lives everyone dreamed of, low-ranking grunts like Adam and me were just barely surviving, keeping our lives intact.
Cold nights. Food that only increased in volume, not quality. Paltry daily wages. Training that changed based on an officer’s mood. Even so, the low-ranking mercenaries seemed to endure, dreaming that one day they, too, would become officers.
Senior members who had joined earlier would entice the others, claiming the real money came after the first expedition, promising that we’d be able to afford all the women and booze we wanted then. Some might have been grateful for even such an opportunity, but I thought it was a pretty cheap price for a life.
Of course, I didn’t care, as I had joined with the desire to kill monsters, mixed with a complex set of personal circumstances.
Adam always told me,
“Let’s just hang in there a little longer, Berg. Like I said, one day I’m going to start my own mercenary corps. And my unit will be very different from this.”
“...”
I didn’t pay much attention to what he said. Back then, I didn’t have the luxury of dreaming.
A few more weeks passed. The whole world was filled with nothing but anxiety over the explosively increasing number of monsters. Ruined villages and lost lives grew in tandem. Countless mercenary corps were born, and everyone was overflowing with work. It became impossible not to believe the stories about the Demon King.
Even when I tried not to think about it, worries about Sien lingered within me. She, who wouldn't let me follow her, nor wait for her. And whenever my head became this cluttered, I would engage in personal training with Adam, swinging wooden swords.
If I sweated through intense training, I could put my thoughts of Sien aside, at least for a while. Sometimes, training became a more powerful cure than anything else. My aching heart grew a little duller, and my shoulders felt lighter. I found it easier to endure physical pain than emotional turmoil.
Adam had once tempted me by saying that if I were to die, I should die a grand death as a mercenary, but he was the one who tried harder than anyone to keep me from dying. If I made a mistake during practice, he would shout, point out my flaws, and get angry.
“Hey, you idiot! You’re going to die if you do it like that!!”
“...”
“Again!”
He showed more passion than even the corps’ training captain. Adam never rested. He practiced swordplay with me, over and over again. Knowing his scolding came from a place of concern, I didn’t feel bad about it. I slowly realized that he was a kind person.
I gradually became addicted to training just like him. As we spent our days like that, Adam and I were building a friendship, whether we wanted to or not. There was a bond that grew even without friendly exchanges. There was a sense of reassurance that we felt just by being by each other’s side, even without words.
The harsh life in the mercenary corps must have played a part. Because our physical abilities were significantly lower than other races, we were frequently picked on. Perhaps the sight of us training individually was an eyesore to them. It seemed they saw us as easy targets to harass simply because we were human.
“Did you say your name was Berg? Don’t get cocky—”
—Thwack!
We looked out for each other. If someone picked a fight with me, Adam would step in and start the brawl. If someone picked a fight with Adam, I would step in. Since both Adam and I were from the slums, it might have been a habit ingrained in our bodies. You have to look after your own side. If you neglect your own, you end up alone later.
Though, sometimes I just wanted to vent my pent-up anger.
If the mercenary corps had been a better place, such deviance wouldn't have been tolerated. But since the corps we belonged to was more of a mess than anywhere else, fighting among members was dismissed as settling hierarchies or just a form of entertainment.
Adam and I only accepted the fights that were brought to us. We didn’t want to waste energy on useless things, and we instinctively knew that in a mercenary corps where unity was crucial, being this discordant wasn't good. Still, we had no choice but to fight, as we couldn't afford to be ignored.
As there weren't many humans in this massive corps, we came to rely on each other. As we continued our life like that, Adam and I were approaching our first expedition.
We received training that I wasn't even sure could be called training, and we took swords and shields into our hands. We wore tattered leather helmets on our heads and donned torn, blood-smelling leather armor. These pieces of armor had likely been scavenged from corpses. Wearing them, death felt closer than ever.
But I welcomed that chilling sensation. It served as a substitute, however small, for the pain of letting Sien go.
What would Sien say if she saw me now? I was always curious about that.
I remember the day I first saw a monster. Familiar animals, with unfamiliar parts added one by one. A deer with three eyes. A wolf with two necks. Winged monstrosities and... the massive, unidentifiable beast at the center of it all.
Since the mercenary corps we joined was quite large, the monsters we faced were often large-scale as well. The officers spoke to boost our morale.
“This is where you must prove your worth! Only those who survive here and earn glory will be able to enjoy a wealthy life! You’ve had enough training, so don’t worry!”
The officer hiding behind us raised his sword high and shouted.
“Don’t forget what you were taught! There is always a leader in a monster horde! If you hunt that leader, the rest is easy!”
Adam and I weren't listening to the officer's words. We were talking to each other, trying to calm our nerves.
“Berg. Don’t forget that we promised to stick together.”
“I know.”
“Forget the training you learned in the corps. Only remember what you practiced with me.”
“I know.”
“Trust me. If you’re in danger, I’ll save you.”
Even as Adam said those words confidently, his hands were trembling.
“Stop shaking.”
“Hey, man, it’s because I’m excited. Not because I’m afraid.”
Then, the mercenary captain shouted.
“Dian, the God of War, is watching! Charge!!”
Adam proved his words. In our first expedition, he achieved incredible results using the very skills that had beaten me up during training. He shone with a talent even greater than the corps’ own vanguard captain. It was Adam who hunted the leader at the center of the monster horde. It was as if a genius had emerged from nowhere. He displayed outstanding talent in combat.
The rewards after the expedition were indeed generous. Money that I couldn't easily touch came into my hands. But Adam was a man who knew how to keep his word. Just as he had said he was preparing to create his own mercenary corps, he saved his earnings, avoiding alcohol, delicious food, and women.
He was the type to brush off the pressure of death and the mental burden of his colleagues' harassment as if they were nothing.
I didn't have much interest, but one day I asked him,
“Isn't it hard?”
It was a question about whether it wasn't difficult to enjoy no entertainment at all.
“I’m enduring it now so I can live comfortably in the future.”
With unwavering conviction, he moved toward his dream. On the other hand, I bought and drank alcohol every night to forget Sien, who appeared in my dreams. I had saved quite a bit of money myself, as I naturally didn't spend it on delicious food or women, but there were times I thought he was truly amazing.
If Sien had been by my side, I would have lived in luxury with her using the money I earned at the cost of my life. I wouldn't have saved a penny. It was purely because Sien wasn't there that I couldn't even think of pursuing other pleasures.
Six more months passed. We were getting used to the battles with monsters. We shook off the stiffness from our first expedition and even started to find some leisure in the fight.
“Berg. Want to make a bet?”
“What kind of bet?”
“Who gets more kills.”
“Don’t do that, just focus.”
“Fine, the bet is on who pays for drinks tonight.”
“...Ha.”
“Why are you sighing again?”
“...You won’t pay even if you lose.”
“I’ll pay today!”
We were enduring the pressure of the battlefield with lighthearted jokes. We were gradually getting used to the occasional deaths of our comrades. No, rather than getting used to it... we were learning how to cope. If we recovered the bodies, held funerals, and shared cheap drinks, we could reduce the shock.
As mercenaries, our lives were truly as fragile as flies. Members we talked to one day would be gone the next. Often, who lived and who died was decided purely by luck. Of course, Adam and I probably had a higher chance of survival than others. We avoided women, tried to stay away from alcohol, and stayed close to training. Still, the pressure that we could die if we were unlucky was always with us.
But we overcame even that together. As I spent time with Adam, I gradually regained my laughter.
“...Brother. I thought you were dead.”
“Why would I die? Anyway, I killed 5, didn't I?”
“...Heh heh. I caught the leader.”
“That’s only because I threw myself into the fray and cleared the area.”
Watching his optimistic, or perhaps heroic, performance, small smiles would escape me. Sometimes he seemed foolish, but there was always laughter at the end of his foolish actions.
Adam was also a very considerate person. Once, he asked me why I had been acting the way I was in the slums. But seeing my expression, which held no answer, he realized he had made a slip of the tongue and changed the subject. After that, he never asked about it again. I knew he must have been curious, but he prioritized our relationship over his own curiosity. The more I saw, the more amazing a person he was. It was only natural that I came to trust him.
I gradually felt more at ease mentally following in his footsteps.
. . .
Two years passed since I joined my first mercenary corps. I turned 19 and became an adult. The pain regarding Sien still lingered inside me, tormenting me, but it wasn't to the point where I couldn't endure it like before. I didn't drink as much as I used to, either.
I still missed her. But at the same time, I now understood our parting. I had accepted the fate that we couldn't be together. Having sent so many people away within the mercenary corps, I tried to think of her departure as just one of many farewells. In fact, the immature way we parted back then was now more bothersome than anything else.
Thinking about it, she had sacrificed herself for everyone’s well-being. Why had I spat out only words that would hurt her? If I could go back, would I be able to... bless her...?
Sometimes, rumors would reach me about the hero's party that Sien had joined. It seemed she was no longer called Sien, but "Saintess." She was saving countless people, protecting many, and purifying lands eroded by demonic energy. I felt as if the cowardly, crybaby Sien I knew had vanished.
The more fame the Saintess gained, the further the distance between us felt. I tried not to think about this, either. I decided to consider the time I was close to her a blessing. I decided to think of the time we spent together as a sweet dream. She was someone who had been born for a different purpose from the start. Perhaps she had realized that fact and decided not to return.
But if I were to be a little more honest... I was still curious. Was Sien thinking of me, too? Was the time we spent together precious to her, or was it, as she had said, just a foolish memory she could forget and move on from? How much of an impact did my existence have on her? What would she say if she saw me living as a mercenary?
...Well, it wouldn't matter what she said now.
I had started this mercenary work out of spite toward her, but now, it was fitting me quite well.