Ch.15: Behavior
Mercenary Captain Royce brings the wagon to a halt. Having entered the afternoon hours, the rain has grown heavier, necessitating several measures to be taken. Covering goods with wool felt, stuffing straw into valuables to prevent moisture, checking the condition of axles and wheels, and so forth. And in addition to that—
"Marik, shall we have a beer tomorrow?"
"Beer, you say."
"Yes. By dawn, we should be able to catch our breath under a roof."
"……Come to think of it, we're getting close to the Count's territory. I won't decline."
With just a few words, he soothes the sharpened hearts of his men. In hot and humid conditions, irritation naturally arises. Setting destinations, precisely presenting deadlines for compensation, and reducing stress—all of these were the roles of a leader.
"A downpour in the dead of winter!"
"Gregor, it's early summer now. Not the dead of winter."
"Ah, no wonder I'm sweating! It's truly pouring down in torrents. Such severe heat that crops might wither and die!"
"……That's not sweat, it's because of the rain that's falling right now."
In the midst of this, the conversation between Gregor and Hadiya flows into his ears. The seasoned mercenary seemed to have lost his memory again, spouting incoherent words. At this, Royce draws the old man's attention with a simple question.
"Gregor, how is your companion doing? Is he well?"
"Ah, you mean the cook comrade?"
"Yes."
Gregor turns his head backward as if he had been waiting for just that question. While the wagon had momentarily stopped, Calix had stepped aside and was devoted to sword practice.
"Excellent! The cook comrade doesn't slack off. He knows that to seize what he wants, he must offer something of his own."
"What does he offer?"
"Time, effort, sweat. And the concentration not to waste those things. You ask while already knowing. You're quite mischievous."
At the roundabout reproach, a faint smile appears on the captain's lips.
"It's been about two weeks since you properly began teaching him, hasn't it?"
"Hmm, it's approaching two weeks. Two weeks…… That should be right? Everyone says so."
"Does he have talent? Time, effort, and such are important, but talent can't be ignored either. Gregor, what do you think?"
Then suddenly, at the question half-filled with mischief and half with curiosity, his head whips— turns back again. Despite not being in his right mind, his two pupils clearly revealed reproachful emotions.
"How long has he been training, and you're already measuring the cook comrade? Can fundamentals be corrected in just half a day? You, that won't do. A human's worth doesn't come solely from outstanding talent."
"Haha, my apologies. Having lived the mercenary life too long, I unconsciously—"
"But he's excellent. Yes, yes, our cook comrade is quite splendid. Didn't I say he was splendid?"
"……."
His words, being blocked by the unpredictable characteristic of eloquence, were only momentary. The mercenary captain lets out a chuckle once before composing his expression. He had asked half-jokingly, half-seriously, because there was something he wanted to know.
"I asked purely out of curiosity. You've never taught anyone before, have you? And from the fundamentals, no less. That's not the mercenary way."
"It is the way of knights, though. So is that a problem?"
"Rather than being a problem……. I heard there are those who gossip behind your back."
"Ah, you mean Hagen. He's utterly worthless. His skills are decent enough, but his heart's vessel is so small."
"Gregor."
He calls his name at the overly frank statement, but the old man waves his shield as if it's nothing serious and continues speaking.
"Rather, it's good. Isn't it proof of the cook comrade's excellence? If he were lacking, there wouldn't even be gossip. They would have just laughed, saying he doesn't know his place. They would have said he's the type who'll self-destruct if left alone. But looking at him, he seems like he'll grow steadily. Kheuheuheuh!"
"……You evaluate him higher than I thought."
"Ah, don't say you didn't know. Weren't you the one who brought him?"
Just as he was about to retort, a sound of tongue-clicking and admiration came first.
"Of course, there are parts I don't understand either. It's because my memory isn't intact, but there was a moment in the last battle that left a deep impression."
"You're talking about when you were isolated in enemy lines."
"Hmm, there was quite a strong fellow then. No, there was one. I remember bits and pieces. The cook comrade fought while protecting me. The difference in level was stark. He was slower in speed, lacked strength, and, technically, it was meaningless to even compare."
"He held out quite well, they say."
"That's what's strange."
"……?"
"He shouldn't have been able to hold out. It was a condition where holding out was impossible. Guys like Hagen disparage him as someone whose tongue was faster than his skills, but he was truly skilled. If it had been on a battlefield, he would have led at least a hundred soldiers under him."
"You're saying he was centurion-level."
From this point on, the captain's responses don't particularly matter. Because Gregor was muttering to himself with narrowed brows, as if extremely curious.
"It's strange, truly strange. How did he hold out? I watched everything from behind his back, but I still don't understand. He moved as if he knew where and how the enemy would attack."
"……."
"That's what I'm curious about."
***
Ting—
The thickened raindrops strike the sword's surface and divide into several streams before falling to the ground, but Calix doesn't budge while holding his sword. 'Dance of the Wasteland' is fundamentally a series of linked movements. Once started, downward strikes and thrusts, charges and retreating movements continue without pause, so he was building up concentration before beginning.
'Without borrowing the power of the neural accelerator, with only my strength. Rather than performing quickly, I must perform with accurate movements.'
Whiiek!
After retracing the movements Gregor had shown as an example in his head, soon the first downward strike cuts through the air. Consequently, his right foot extends forward, transitioning to a thrusting motion, leading with his shoulder first while releasing strength from his right hand gripping the sword handle.
'The right hand only guides the direction, while the sword is pushed with the left hand.'
Pa-aang!
The core of thrusting is point explosion. As the forearm muscles reach their limit and then extend outward, concentrating force to the sword tip, meaningful noise reaches his ears. It's not a satisfying result.
'Too much force went in. It doesn't have that controlled feeling like Gregor's. Why is that? What went wrong?'
Whiiek, Saaak!
Soon, while taking half a step back and connecting to a defensive movement, various things worth trying anew come to mind in Calix's head. Smoothly connecting the entire movement, releasing force when extending the sword, lowering the center of gravity a bit more, and so on. If Volga hadn't interfered, he would have practiced at least two more times.
"Isn't it boring to dance with swords alone?"
"……I find it interesting, though."
"You find it interesting?"
"Because I can see my skills improving. It's been interesting so far."
"If you keep repeating it, you'll get tired of it, beyond boredom."
"I hope so."
"Huh?"
"Because then it'll become ingrained in my body."
"……Crazy bastard. You're really a strange guy. Aren't you anxious? All the other kids only do neural accelerator and combat-focused training. It's problematic that the veteran mercenaries torment them like catching mice, but everyone's not like before. What changes by swinging swords slowly?"
Despite the grumbling, Calix simply smiles without any particular rebuttal. Things will change. Just by repeatedly performing basic swordsmanship, he could tell how lucky he had been in the fights he'd experienced before. As handling a sword becomes familiar and his swordsmanship level rises, his dependence on the element of luck would also decrease. The subsequent conversation content also proved this again.
"Did you learn how not to die like an idiot?"
"……How not to die like an idiot?"
"See, you don't even know this?"
Just as the break time ended and they returned to the wagon's side, Volga explained in detail what he had learned with a boastful expression.
"What's the most important thing to avoid in a fight? It's both sides dying like idiots. Once you enter combat, it doesn't end just by dealing a fatal blow to the enemy. Even if I stab the nape of the neck, the opponent can still move for a moment. For example, if I get stabbed in the abdomen with a sword, then my life ends too. That's called 'dying like an idiot'. Master taught me."
"So properly subduing the enemy is important."
In the end, it's content emphasizing the importance of swordsmanship.
"Right. I'm also learning how to use an axe from the Master. When the opponent brings down a sword, if you hook it with the end of the axe and pull, the body's center becomes disturbed and……."
"……Why?"
"No, this is something I can't tell you for free. You should also spill what you've learned later. Got it? This body has learned tremendous techniques."
"All I've learned is swordsmanship. You've already seen that."
Calix's protest contains half-truths and half-lies. Swordsmanship wasn't something important to see with the eyes. Force distribution, proper posture, and appropriate usage for situations. The true value came from Gregor.
"Ah, really, then shall we at least spar with each other? They say we'll arrive at the city soon, so let's have a bout there. How about it?"
"Not a bad proposal."
"Other kids can join too, right? Over ten people died in the last battle. There aren't even thirty left now. Whether their minds have become clear, they're frantic about not being able to train."
"……Really?"
"Yeah. There's no need to teach them anything. Just scuffle with them. If you want, you can test the swordsmanship you have newly learned. Make sure to bring them to their senses."
Since there's no particular reason to refuse the proposal, Calix nods. However, the moment to test his swordsmanship came sooner than planned.
***
Calix follows the wagon on foot. Meanwhile, Volga and the other newcomers were captivated by Hadiya's eloquence as she sat perched at the wagon's edge.
"So you're saying the neural accelerators we received are low-output?"
"That's right. '1.1' to '1.5' are low-output, belonging to novice mercenaries or conscripts. Next, '1.6' to '2.0' are classified as semi-medium output. At this level, you can say you've gotten a taste of mercenary life."
"What about above that?"
"'2.1' to '2.5' is medium output, '2.6' to '3.0' and above is high output. Above '3.0' is classified as maximum output, and if you surpass even that level……. You know what it's called."
"Master!"
It's a story he can't just let pass by, either.
'Low output is gray, semi-medium output is green. Medium output is blue, high output is purple, like Gregor and the Captain. And gold is the maximum output.'
Because it helped him accurately classify the levels of enemies he had only seen visually, and also helped him infer his own level. Regarding neural accelerator output alone, he's at the edge of green. That's Calix's current level.
"So everyone should improve their skills. We're mountain rabbits. You'll see when we go to the city, but we get decent treatment. At least, you'll need to reach '1.5', the limit of low output, to aim for a formal member position."
"……."
"Ah, Calix is an exception. He proved himself. If you really don't like it, you can also go bring back a head with a bounty on it. Do you understand what I mean? Take that level of risk."
The attention focused on him was only momentary. Volga steps forward to change the subject.
"Then how can you raise the neural accelerator grade?"
"Grade? Raising the grade is impossible unless you tear out what's attached to your neck entirely and replace it. Even if you're lucky enough to obtain a higher-grade neural accelerator, you'd have to consider the risks of re-surgery. Most importantly……. It would cost a lot of money, right?"
"……I see. Then what about my current output? How can I raise it to the limit?"
"That can't be done with effort alone either. Since your adaptation period is over, you should have a sense of where your limit output is, but honestly speaking, that's exactly as far as it goes. Well, it's not like there's absolutely no method."
The newcomers all light up their eyes, but it's not a story that applies to Calix.
"Save money and find a Magical Engineer."
"Again?"
"Ah, you don't need surgery, so don't make that terrified expression. From what I hear, they modify some… Magical circuits to increase the efficiency of magic stones? Of course, a lot of money would be needed in that process, right? For that, you'd have to actively take on requests too."
"……In the end, it's all about money."
Just then, a single scream heard from afar draws the mercenary group's attention to one place.
[You barbaric bastards!]
[I'm telling you, if you just leave the cargo and go, nothing will happen]
At the edge of the dirt road. A large wagon sits tilted with one wheel fallen off. Beside it stands a man in light outerwear and leather boots with his attendants, surrounded by a group that clearly appears to be highway robbers.
"A perfect example of 'taking requests for money-making' has just presented itself. What should we do in this case?"
"Uh……. Looking at the clothing, he seems like a merchant. Shouldn't we help him and receive compensation?"
"Wrong."
"Then?"
"First, keep your mouth shut."
"……?"
While everyone expresses puzzled emotions, the mercenary group's wagon continues straight along the road as if it had seen nothing. Given the scale, the highway robbers also only watch cautiously, not daring to attack.
"Look here! Please help! I will surely reward you!"
"……."
Then soon, as they get close enough to see each other's features clearly, Hadiya mutters loudly as if for them to hear.
"In times like this, you can't rashly charge in. Those bastards might be in cahoots and have set a trap. The wagon wheel is broken? Who cares. They probably broke it themselves. It's a common trick to lure in travelers and backstab them."
"No, no……. What are you saying! I said I'd pay!"
"Look, see? He says he'll provide a reward but never mentions the exact amount until the end. In cases like this, it's one of two things. Either a greenhorn who's only recently started trading, or a vagrant in cahoots with bandits."
"These crazy……."
Is this right? While a peculiar expression appears on the faces of the newcomers, including Calix, the merchant frantically shouts out an amount, unable to bear the restlessness.
"4, 40 pieces! I'll pay 40 silver coins!"
"There are 80 mercenaries; where are you going to stick that?"
"……C, cotton cloth too! I'll give you five bolts! I don't have money on hand yet since I haven't traded! Please!"
"Ah, it's ambiguous, ambiguous. The compensation is far too ambiguous. Please survive until our Captain makes up his mind."
Dreuruek, dreureureuk.
Soon the merchant's wagon and the mercenary group's wagon cross paths, and the wheel sounds don't mercifully stop. Before long, a final proposal flies over.
"50 silver coins! That's truly all I have!"
"50 pieces?"
"50 pieces!"
"You'll give the five bolts of cotton cloth too?"
"……I, I'll give them! So please—"
"Oh my, client sir!"
"……."
"What are you doing? Aren't you going to make money? Everyone, move!"
This is the mercenary way of acting. At this, Calix thought as he drew his sword. It's a bit lacking in romance.