Footsteps of the White Whale

A massive castle gate was guarded by a knight. He wasn't as old as the head butler, but he didn't look entirely young either. He was a seasoned middle-aged knight exuding an air of experience.

Standing beside him was a slightly boyish-looking young man. That must be what they call a squire, right?

"Here you go."

The knight was practically nobility. That meant we had to show him respect. Janet handed over the parchment proving our mercenary band's credentials from her bosom. Along with it came the contracts related to this territorial war.

- Swish. Swipe.

The inspection with the authenticity artifact didn't end after one pass—it was repeated two or three times. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Thanks to that, it took far longer than entering the village. Even after the strict, nitpicky checks, they inspected each person's ID individually.

"Chanyoung Park. White Whale Mercenary Corps affiliate. Black eyes and black hair... Matches."

"Thank you."

- Swish.

I tucked the mercenary badge back into my pocket as I replied. Fortunately, Chris passed without issue too. As the knight walked away to check the other mercenaries, I called up his status window toward his back.

Ding!

The stats of a knight who'd devoted his life to sword training were anything but ordinary. His strength and vitality were nearly 50. 'No way I could take him head-on...'

They were about 10 higher than my own, maxed out with buffs from the sun overhead. I couldn't guarantee a win, but if I had to fight this guy straight-up, the odds favored defeat.

Middle-aged knight Lugo Bollere had likely trained for over four times as long as Chris, who'd honed her skills for seven years in the Terraforming world. That made these stats plenty believable.

Ding!

Opening his skill window confirmed it—he had proper skills, ones I'd never seen before.

'Valliere Family Knight Mana Heart Method Lv 5... Valliere Family Knight Swordsmanship Lv 6?'

This was the first time I'd seen real swordsmanship and heart method skills on anyone else. The mercenaries' skills all had crappy descriptors like "learned by feel" or "picked up by watching." Hard to believe, but if the system called Lv 5 second-rate, then even with stats near 50, this knight was just that.

...Not a capital knight, just one of the few in a minor territory, so maybe that's why?

"Inspection complete! Entry granted!"

"Th-then, please hand over your weapons."

With permission to enter, the squire finally stepped up to collect our weapons. Everyone except me, who had no cold iron weapons, surrendered theirs to him. Chris handed over her butchering dagger from her waist, included.

After a quick body search confirmed no hidden arms, we finally stepped inside the gate.

The elderly head butler handled the internal guidance.

- Thud, thud.

Passing the inner castle walls—thicker and sturdier than the outer ones—we were greeted by the fairly grand inner keep. Mel was captivated by the castle's scale. Of course, to Chris and me, used to skyscrapers over 100 stories, it didn't impress much. But the unique charm of a structure built more by human hands than heavy machinery was undeniable.

It had taken hours to trek from the battlefield plains to the castle. The sun was already dipping low, making it evening by this world's early-to-bed, early-to-rise habits.

But the first place we were shown wasn't the banquet hall. The old butler urged us mercenaries to wash up first and change into the prepared clothes. Mercenaries who camped like it was dinner weren't exactly clean, to put it nicely.

"Please use the private baths in your assigned rooms. One attendant per person for bathing, but does anyone wish to decline?"

"Are the bath attendants men?"

"No. Apologies, but... all our trained attendants are women."

"Well, then I don't mind."

Janet, uncomfortable showing her naked body to a man, confirmed the attendants' gender before answering. Besides her, plenty were thrilled to hear they were women. Most of the band, excluding Chris and me.

Sensing the mood among the mercenaries, the butler hesitantly spoke up.

"Ahem... The lord awaits the banquet soon, so please don't bathe too long..."

In other words, no groping the attendants. The men's excitement deflated. But the butler's next words brought smiles back.

"Of course, we have no intention of treating the White Whale poorly. We've prepared after-banquet entertainment... The attendants will await in your rooms around meal's end."

- Whistle!

- That's right!

- I like the sound of that!!

"Then, assuming no one declines the bath attendants..."

"M-me! I'm good!"

Only three declined: me, Chris, and Mel—who couldn't risk her crossdressing being exposed. We also refused the nighttime attendants, Janet included.

"Kukuku... Mel, you little punk. Still don't know what's good for ya?"

"No way you still got no experience?"

"What?! A mercenary with no experience? No shot!"

"..."

Mel blushed, unable to respond to the crude banter. Chris and I refusing made sense as lovers, but Mel—whom they saw as a guy—looked like a total virgin, making her prime teasing material. Janet joined in, chuckling.

"Heehee! Got a fiancée back home waiting?"

"Kuhuhu! Captain, bet ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that fiancée left in the village forgot Mel ages ago."

"Who knows? Maybe she's waiting pure and faithful!"

"Truth is, Mel's fiancée is probably at the mill with next-door Hans right now..."

"Puhahaha!! You maniac!"

"Even decent girls lose their V-card by your age... Ow!"

- Smack!

"...Enough. Let's go eat."

"Ow... Y-yes?... Yep."

Janet shut down the ruckus abruptly. The smacked mercenary glared back indignantly, then shut up at her fierce glare.

'What? She was laughing along just now...'

Anyway, banquet time. The silent butler resumed guiding us.

We washed in our rooms and changed into the provided clothes. Nothing fancy—just crisp, new-clothes clean.

"Then... Seems everyone's ready. To the hall."

- Thud, thud.

Janet looked pissed, so no one chattered. We moved to the hall amid dozens of footsteps.

At the door, the butler gave ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠basic etiquette tips. As Janet had said outside, they wouldn't demand much from mercenaries.

- Knock knock knock!

"The White Whale Mercenary Corps has arrived."

"...Enter."

- Creeeak... Thud!

An armored knight opened the door from inside. Not the ID guy. Knights lined the hall walls—not just one or two.

'Guess they can't leave us mercenaries alone with the lord.'

Fine by me. Better chance to gauge knightly status and skill averages. No new traits or skills. Their heart methods and swordsmanship were all "Valliere Family" branded. Probably the lord's secret arts taught to territory knights.

- Swish.

No sign of the lord yet. Makes sense—high-ups enter last. Different world from Earth, but nobles were elite too, so similar mindset.

"Man... ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Smell that..."

"Holy shit, look at the grease dripping..."

"Art... This is real art..."

"Gulp..."

The massive long table groaned under food that tempted our post-bath empty stomachs. But no eating or sitting—the lord hadn't arrived.

We stood by our chairs, upper seat empty, waiting. The men's heated faces prayed for a quick entrance. One more minute, and they'd curse him inwardly.

"The lord of Valliere Territory, rising star of the anti-empire blue-blood faction, enters: Count Tyrone Theodore de Valliere!"

- Creeeak!

- Clap clap clap!!

Knights flung open the doors. We clapped hard, urging his steps faster. Butler's orders, but whatever.

Backfired—he slowed to savor the thunderous applause.

- Clap clap clap!!

Surprisingly, the lord wasn't fat. Moderately muscled, average height, skin a bit sun-reddened despite "blue blood." Utterly ordinary. Only his slicked-back oiled hair and finery screamed noble.

- Drag. Thud!

He sat at the head after a servant pulled his chair. Then we could sit. Servants and butlers moved silently and in sync to our sides.

- Pour pour...

Wine glasses at fifty seats filled simultaneously. Perfectly timed pours. Impressive without words. We felt welcomed.

The lord spoke.

"I'm thrilled to have the White Whale Mercenary Corps, famed across the kingdom, aiding us. My fertile Valliere lands..."

I realized the band's thoughts aligned: 'How long will this windbag ramble?'

Even in AOS games, five teammates rarely agreed—but this lord unified fifty minds. Impressive feat.

But we were wrong.

"...So, we must raise a toast! To the White Whale Mercenary Corps! And...!"

His victory speech was surprisingly short. Enough to win our favor.

"To Valliere!!"

The lord raised his glass high. We followed, eager.

- To Valliere!!

- To Valliere!!

- To Valliere!!

We toasted sincerely. The sharp, unique liquor swirled in my mouth. I rolled it on my tongue, pretending to savor.

'...No clue about booze.'

Then the old butler whispered to the lord. Too far as the band's rookie to hear. The lord's face lit with interest.

"Oh ho! Felt the spark, eh?"

"...Yes... So..."

"Hm! Perfect timing. Victory day and all."

- Whoosh!

"White Whale Mercenary Corps! I hear you have a monk among you! For a pre-meal abbreviated Mass, I ask! Bless Valliere's victory!"

The band's eyes turned to me at his standing proclamation. No choice—they knew only me as the monk. And he meant me.

The lord's gaze followed, meeting mine.

"Hoo! Indeed! Black hair, black eyes! Heard of it! Many monks are Easterners, right? Pray for us!"

He grinned, flashing pearly whites.

Fuck. I know jack about monk doctrine...