Chapter 74 : Chapter 74

Chapter 074: To Us, Tomorrow (2)

I surveyed the food laid out on the table.

Each plate was piled high with glistening chicken legs, their skin soaked in oil, and thinly sliced fried potatoes.

"For bar snacks to eat alone, isn’t this a bit much?"

The boy set down his wooden mug and took a deep breath, as if bracing himself.

His eyes sparkled like grains of salt embedded in a piece of potato.

"Well, you never know when you might die, so you gotta eat as much as you can while you can… right?"

I snorted and popped a potato slice into my mouth.

It was disgustingly salty.

"Ptooey. Damn it. Ruined my appetite."

"…"

"No long talk. Get out of here now. Before I change my mind."

It had been about two weeks since the ruckus in Easton.

What had I been doing in the meantime?

First, I took some time for self-reflection.

It took me a while to admit it.

Yeats, the spearman, Pink Head, the kid wizard. The so-called Four Wings of Callence.

Taking on all four of them alone at the same time was still too much for me.

With restrictions on using Sword Aura, how was I supposed to handle guys who recklessly unleashed Aura without a care?

No, even beyond that, the very idea of using Aura in a civil war on their own land, not some territorial battle, was something I found hard to comprehend.

When fighting lunatics, you either go crazy with them or stay ice-cold.

One or the other.

Naturally, I chose the latter…

And with the mindset of a one-man army dropped into the battlefield of Conwell, I was able to reassess the situation.

"Why, why’s that?"

…He’s breaking my train of thought.

I looked up.

The boy was staring at me with a dumbfounded expression.

"Why? You want to die?"

"Of course I want to live. That’s not what I mean, why would you say that to me…?"

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"Just fifteen, and you’re hanging around a place like this? If the snacks were even decent, I might’ve let you stay for a drink as thanks, but that urge is gone. So scram."

"You don’t look that much older than me… though."

I’m not kind enough to play along with his banter.

I shot him a look that said as much, and he quickly bowed his head.

"S-sorry."

I slung my arm over the back of the chair and scanned the room.

At some point, everyone inside was sneaking glances at me.

Some turned away as our eyes met, others buried their noses in their mugs.

It was quite a sight.

‘Mercenaries who live by the sword…’

I know why these idiots are gathered here.

I’ve been diligently collecting information.

"But I can’t do that."

My eyes flicked back to the boy.

Did I hear that wrong?

"What?"

"I don’t know who you are, and I’m grateful that you’re worried about me…"

My brow furrowed.

What’s he going on about?

"I get that you don’t like seeing a kid like me mixed up in a place like this, but I… I came here with my own resolve."

"…?"

"And I heard the Barrow Mercenary Band is just two people. No way something big’s gonna happen, right?"

That’s right.

The guys gathered here are mercenaries who volunteered for tomorrow’s raid on the Barrow Mercenary Band.

‘Bonnie and Clyde.’

From what I’ve picked up while cutting down Callence’s regular soldiers, those two have been waging guerrilla warfare like me and somehow holding out.

The moment their whereabouts were pinpointed, a rumor reached my ears.

Some knight, supposedly tasked with crushing the remnants of the Lady’s forces, was recruiting mercenaries to take down Bonnie and Clyde.

That’s why I’m here.

To wipe out these guys first and then link up with the two.

"You still don’t get the situation, do you? Everyone here is going to die. By my hand."

"…What!?"

No need for a long explanation.

"I’m Bihen Benkou."

The moment I introduced myself, a wave of intense reactions erupted.

Shocked gasps filled the air as people scrambled to their feet, chairs scraping against the wooden floor in a chaotic cacophony.

The boy’s face went pale, his body frozen, only his pupils trembling violently.

I didn’t bother looking around. I spoke loudly, making sure everyone could hear.

"You’ve got until I stand up. If you want to live, get out now and don’t ever come near a battlefield again. I’ve got a good look at your faces, so behave yourselves."

From my past life to now, I’ve passed through countless bloodbaths.

No need to use my senses.

Most of these guys should be holding plows, not swords.

The reason these serfs, who were probably worrying about their starving families just yesterday, ended up here…

I don’t want to think about it.

"The Sword Fiend, here…! I heard rumors he was tied to the Barrow Mercenary Band, but to think he’d actually show up."

"They say he’s elusive, and they weren’t kidding."

"I heard he cuts down anyone who sides with the Archduke without mercy."

"No matter how broke I am, I gotta live first. Let’s get out of here!"

Amid the clatter of people rushing out, some spouted nonsense, and I considered teaching them a lesson but decided against it.

To kill time, I figured I’d try the chicken.

I tore off a piece and put it in my mouth, but the gamey taste hit me hard.

Damn it.

"Ugh, what a waste."

The room was starting to clear out.

I fixed my gaze forward.

"…Can’t you understand plain words? You’re not that young."

The boy sat motionless, his eyes glued to the table.

His tense shoulders and trembling lips, bitten by his upper teeth, shook visibly.

"…"

He raised his head, his eyes wet.

With a determined effort, as if he’d steeled himself, he spoke.

"Are you really Bihen Benkou?"

"Yeah. You think some fool in Conwell would go around using my name?"

The moment I finished, the boy stood abruptly and bowed deeply.

"Thank you. I’m finally greeting you properly."

"…?"

"During the Canchester uprising last time. My family owes you a great debt."

I blinked.

My lips parted stupidly, and I couldn’t help it.

It’s like beating up a guy only to find out he’s the son of your father’s best friend… That kind of feeling.

"Your dad was a blacksmith in Canchester?"

"…"

He nodded, then suddenly started to choke up.

What now?

"He passed away. Not long ago."

"Ah…"

"It was the aftereffects of the torture by that bastard Roxley… I mean, that guy. He already had a chronic illness."

I licked my suddenly dry lips and subtly adjusted my posture.

The careless words and actions I’d thrown at this kid were coming back like karma.

"That’s… I’m sorry to hear that."

I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again.

I felt dizzy.

Canchester is a place I’m deeply tied to.

Not just because of that incident, but because it warmly welcomed the Empire’s refugees.

As we both fell silent, like we were holding a moment of reverence, I quickly cooled my head.

But that’s that, and this is this.

"Canchester is special to me too. That’s why I can’t let you stay in a dangerous place like this. A blacksmith’s son, a mercenary? If you’re skilled enough to set up shop in Canchester, that’s no small feat. Go back and take up the family trade—"

"I’ve never held a hammer."

"What? Why?"

"…I was ashamed. Of my father back then. His soot-covered skin, calloused hands, the smell of sweat… All of it. I swore every day I’d never be a blacksmith like him."

A sigh escaped me.

They say a skilled blacksmith can raise a family to prominence.

Even in the Empire, it wasn’t rare for the founder of a prestigious house to be such a craftsman.

Talented blacksmiths, who forged divine weapons, were treated with respect wherever they went.

Some would pay a fortune to learn those skills and secrets, yet this kid had kicked away his blessing.

‘This ungrateful, disloyal little… No, that’s not for me to say.’

I rubbed my chin, organizing my thoughts, and spoke.

"So you think being a mercenary is the answer? Risking your life seems easy to you?"

"My mother’s unwell. I have a younger sister too. As the head of the family, I have to do something…"

So, in summary, a boy who only grew up after losing his father had thrown himself into this brutal battlefield to support his family.

"Who doesn’t have a story?"

A voice came from behind, drained of energy.

I wasn’t in the mood to listen to sob stories, so I glared, but the old man who spoke looked like

he was carrying the world’s burdens on his face, and I couldn’t help but soften my gaze.

How did I not notice before?

Even after my order to clear out, a ton of people were still here.

"The Archduke posted notices in every village. He’s doubling the tribute for military provisions. The fall harvest was already bad, and now we don’t even have enough grain to feed the kids…"

"Either way, we’re dead. If they’re paying just for holding a sword and filling a spot, why refuse? Tch."

"It’s too much, isn’t it? The Archduke, I mean. He’s gonna squeeze us dry until he finishes off his own kin."

"Whether the rightful heir is the Archduke or the Lady, what’s it to us? We just figure the Archduke’s gonna win, so we’re lending a hand to end it quick."

Once one person opened the floodgates, everyone chimed in.

Suddenly, it was a venting arena.

A thought struck me.

I was trapped in a net.

A web far tougher and more relentless than the encirclement laid by Callence’s Four Wings…

"Bihen Benkou. You’re fighting for Lady Adeline, aren’t you?"

The boy said.

Why? Why did the back of my neck feel cold, like a blade had grazed it?

"I…"

I trailed off without meaning to.

My head slowly turned.

How had I not seen it before?

In every lifeless gaze I thought had gone cold, there was a spark, like an ember still burning.

To the heavens that granted me the miracle of regression.

And to me, they ask.

For whom should I wield my sword?

* * *

Haspeld, Knight Anderson’s mansion.

Anderson stared out the window, his face heavy with worry.

The mansion, built on a hill slightly removed from the village, offered a clear view of the entire village at night when the moon was bright, like tonight.

Knock, knock.

Anderson turned his head.

Through the cracked door, the butler Charles poked his head in, eyes wide and alert.

"Can’t you just come in without making a fuss? So annoying, tch."

Charles tiptoed inside.

Afraid his footsteps might disturb his master’s mood, his shoulders hunched instinctively.

"Sir Anderson. I did some snooping earlier, and there’s a ton of them. It’s packed."

"The mercenaries?"

"Yes. With the reward being so big, they must’ve come rushing in from all over after hearing the news. Now everyone in Conwell’s gonna know Sir Anderson’s got deep pockets. Hehe."

"…Hehe?"

"N-no, that’s not what I meant—"

"My daughter’s been taken hostage, and you’re laughing?"

As Anderson raised his hand threateningly, Charles quickly bowed his head.

Anderson let out a furious sigh, glaring at the ceiling.

His fists trembled.

"How do I tear those bastards apart to quench my rage…!"

Four days ago.

Two uninvited guests had barged into the mansion.

Bonnie and Clyde.

They claimed they needed a pass and forged identity papers to travel to Theodore.

Normally, travel procedures between Conwell and Theodore were handled in Ludglen, but with Ludglen’s administrative knight, Fred, missing for some reason, the problem had rolled into Haspeld.

Anderson had clear reasons to refuse their demands.

For one, their attitude was insolent, bordering on blackmail.

More importantly, the two were known associates of Lady Adeline.

The moment he rejected them outright…

They vanished with his only daughter.

Leaving only a message that they’d wait in the hills of Ludglen, giving him three days.

It was so natural, as if they’d anticipated his refusal.

The phrase "caught with your pants down" fit perfectly.

"Arghhh!"

Recalling the horrific memory, Anderson roared.

He’d lived quietly, avoiding trouble, so why had such a heavy trial befallen him? He cursed the heavens.

At that moment, Charles cautiously interjected.

"I did some digging on those two. They’re infamous in the western regions. Real nasty types."

Anderson, clutching his hair, glared at Charles.

"…You messing with me?"

"No, no way, sir!"

"Oh, sure, you’ve been looking mighty pleased lately. Having fun, are you?"

"It’s a misunderstanding, Sir Anderson! I’ve prepared thoroughly. That Bonnie woman—she’s supposedly a master of lightning magic. You didn’t know, right?"

"…I heard she’s a high-level mage."

"Knew it."

Charles puffed out his shoulders smugly, a confident smirk on his face.

"Those two hid out with the young lady in a mountain cabin and set up a magic-sealing formation around it. I went out of my way, sweating buckets, to track down a magic school that specializes in that field."

Anderson gritted his teeth.

His anger subsided slightly.

"With enough mercenaries gathered, we’re perfectly prepared."

Anderson strode toward a wardrobe on one side of his study.

Sliding the doors open, a brilliant sheen poured out.

Among the plate armor hung in human shapes, two daggers forged from black iron glinted with an eerie light.

Anderson narrowed his eyes.

‘Zahara, Toxeed.’

Each dagger had a name.

They were heirloom weapons.

Beloved by his grandfather, the founder of their house, they’d only been maintained by servants, never used by Anderson himself.

"The time has finally come."

Anderson was a third-generation hereditary knight who had inherited his title.

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