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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Kanta Village (1)
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"Aaaargh! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!"
Seamus clutched his head, screaming as he paced back and forth inside the meeting room.
"You're giving me a headache. Sit down, Seamus."
"Captain! How is this even possible?! A mission already? We barely got any rest! My vacation! My vacatiooon!"
Half-resigned, Seamus slumped into the seat next to Kratos.
"Ahem. To continue, our mission is to explore the desert and investigate the cause of these strange phenomena. It will be a long expedition, so make sure you are all thoroughly prepared."
As expected, the expressions on the mercenaries' faces were grim. Venturing deep into the desert meant a longer mission duration and no information about what situations they might encounter.
"Also, this is Kratos, who will be joining our company on a temporary basis starting today. He'll only be with us for this mission, so please give him a warm welcome. Although, it seems three of you have already been knocked out by his fists."
"Hey, Captain! I'm telling you, that guy's a psycho! What do you mean, fists? It felt like I was getting bludgeoned by a sledgehammer."
"Ah, crap. It was thirty-three men, you know? Thirty-three! Isn't that a new record for the mercenary corps? A rookie taking down thirty-three men in a duel?"
"You crazy bastard! Don't emphasize the thirty-three!"
One of the mercenaries, still sporting a dark bruise over his eye, let out a self-deprecating sigh.
"It is a new record. As far as I know, Captain Iscario's record was fifteen."
"Fuck. Like that's something to be proud of. Ugh."
Although Kratos was assigned to the 10th Company, there wasn't as much resistance as one might expect.
Seamus had already been talking him up nonstop since their return, but the incident at the dueling grounds today had certainly improved his image.
The most important fact was the simple principle: the more strong allies, the better.
"And Kratos, once this meeting is over, go see the quartermaster. You can't go on your first mission without a weapon."
"Understood."
A strange tension made my palms sweat.
Of course, I had navigated quite a few chaotic situations since my reincarnation, but those had felt like they happened in a whirlwind of confusion. This was a real mission with a clear objective.
Moreover, we were tasked with uncovering the mystery of the desert, a problem that had remained unsolved for over a year.
It felt strange to call it a past life, but in my previous one, I was usually the one who stayed in the rear during these kinds of operations or entered only after the area was secured.
Anyone could see I was more of a brains-over-brawn type.
But now, that same person was going to be fighting on the front lines!
"Phew. Still, it's a relief that brute strength is on our side."
"Right? With that kind of power, couldn't he just rip monsters apart with his bare hands?"
"Hmm. I saw him crush one in Rzhev, not rip it."
"Hahaha. How reassuring. Let's just hope nobody's skull gets crushed on this mission."
The mercenaries chuckled as they left the meeting room.
"Don't mind them. They're just talking tough, but they're glad you're here. Honestly, that strength of yours is no ordinary thing. Having a good comrade by your side increases your chances of survival."
The word I'd heard most often since my reincarnation was "brute."
Of course, it wasn't the literal meaning of being ignorant, but rather the kind of brute force that lacked refinement and was just crude power.
Without me even realizing it, my character had been established. Simple-minded brute. Like a barbarian.
Well, I did use that kind of weapon back in Rzhev, too.
It was actually for the best. The more personas, the better.
Things like concepts, actions, and weapons tend to leave a very strong impression on people.
Yes, I've decided. From now on, I'll live like Kratos from the games or Ma Dong-seok from the movies.
***
"What? An axe? Or a hammer?"
"Yes. The heavier, the better."
The quartermaster of the White Mercenary Corps was a dwarf. An old one at that, who reeked of craftsmanship.
If only I had that black iron axe-hammer I received in Rzhev. But I'd left it behind in the capital.
"Hmm. You got the strength to lift it? Just aimlessly increasing the weight of a hammer for a single powerful blow is meaningless. Besides, a hammer is a blunt weapon! You have to think about the long haul in a fight. If you swing it once and are too exhausted to swing again, that's not a weapon! It's an artifact."
Did this dwarf not hear the rumors about me? The Skull-Breaker of Rzhev! And what?! I even blew up the Imperial Palace!
"I can lift it just fine. Hmm, would this be enough?"
Contrary to my inner thoughts, I maintained the utmost politeness as I casually lifted a nearby sack filled with black iron with one hand.
It had to weigh at least 500 kilograms. That's right! I could take on 500! That's what I'm saying!
Of course, even this felt incredibly light.
"Ho. A curious one, you are. Slim build, but the strength of a giant. My name is Dwalin. I am the third son of the fourth descendant of the tenth master craftsman of the great Ironhammer."
The third son of the fourth descendant of the tenth master craftsman of Ironhammer?
To state his ancestry so grandly meant he was a craftsman whose skills warranted such pride.
It meant he had forged at least one item considered a masterpiece.
To think such a dwarf was with the White Mercenary Corps. This was a stroke of luck. Even if it wasn't a magnum opus, getting a decent weapon would be a huge asset.
Think about it. When it comes down to it, isn't gear king?
"The third son of the fourth descendant of the tenth master craftsman of Ironhammer? Wow, to think someone whose skills other dwarves can't easily approach is here."
"Hmph. The humans here just ask what that even means. You seem to know, eh?"
"Of course. Who wouldn't know of the great dwarven city of Ironhammer? Especially the title of master craftsman, granted to only ten."
"Ho ho. Well, well. That's right. You know your stuff!"
With a satisfied expression, Dwalin headed toward the very back of the armory.
Axes and hammers weren't particularly popular weapons, so he had a pretty decent one lying around.
His method of weapon-making was simple. He didn't make the weapon he wanted to make; he listened to the words of the metal and crafted the weapon accordingly.
Because of that, he never knew what kind of weapon would emerge. As a result, the armory was piled with all sorts of bizarre creations.
It was a shame, seeing his weapon-children gathering dust in the warehouse.
"Here it is."
Dwalin pulled out the finest hammer he had ever made.
Perfectly balanced.
However, its weight made it difficult to find a worthy owner. Perhaps a dwarf, an orc, or one of the beastkin could handle it, but not many others.
*Thud—*
As he set the hammer down, a heavy thud echoed, and vibrations ran through the floor.
"This one should satisfy you."
It was a perfect hammer, different from the one I had received in Rzhev.
A short handle that could barely be gripped with two hands. A wrist strap at the bottom of the handle. And a large, formidable head.
As I gripped the handle and swung it, a pleasant hum resonated as it cut through the air.
"Looks like the lad likes you too."
"It's good."
"Don't lose it. If you do, I'll make you regret it."
Dwalin was a dwarf who was very, very, *very* attached to the weapons he created.
***
"Until you return safely, your mugs will not be emptied but kept full."
It was their own unique farewell ceremony for mercenaries heading out on a dangerous mission.
It meant they should finish their mission safely and come back for a cold glass of beer. If they didn't return, it would be the drink poured out for them on their final journey.
Weren't mercenaries such beings? Hired hands who moved from place to place for money.
Beings no one cared about as long as their lives were paid for. That's why the members of the White Mercenary Corps looked out for each other more than anyone.
In this world, who could you trust but yourself and your comrades? Especially in chaotic times like these.
Beer was poured into the mugs bearing the names of the departing company members, filling them to the brim.
The mugs were so ridiculously large that chugging one was an impossible feat.
Once all the mugs were full, Mike Hoare met the eyes of each mercenary standing ready to depart and shouted loudly.
"Open the gates!"
At his cry, the massive fortress gates, which were never opened unless for a mission, swung open silently as if by magic, bidding the mercenaries farewell.
"Alright. Let's finish this mission without any casualties, come back, and empty every last one of those beer mugs."
"Why not empty the entire barrel while you're at it?"
"Heh. You damn drunk. If you make it back alive, I'll let you drown in a barrel of it."
As they passed through the gates, the members of the 10th Company started to crack jokes, their faces breaking into smiles to ease the tension.
Serious situations were bound to happen on missions. Even more so on a difficult one like this.
If that was the case, there was no need to look grim from the start. If only for the sake of morale.
"Haha! Hey, rookie. Don't be so nervous. Even if we go in deep, it'll probably be fine."
"Scared? It's okay, it's okay!"
Someone patted Kratos on the shoulder reassuringly.
He had been staring straight ahead without a word, which they took for nervousness, but Kratos was actually lost in his own delusions atop his horse.
'So my face is like WWE's Triple H right now. And… is this a sledgehammer? Though it looks more like Thor's hammer or the Doomhammer.'
There was no point in thinking about the desert problem now; it wasn't like he'd find an answer. Besides, using his brain without any information was not his style.
"We ride hard until Kanta Village. We'll resupply there and switch to camels."
As soon as they left the White Mercenary Corps' base and exited the village entrance, they picked up their pace. It was a full day's ride at top speed to reach the settlement on the edge of the desert.
The temperature difference between day and night was insane, so they had a lot of supplies to pick up, including cold-weather gear.
If they couldn't stop at the tribes scattered throughout the desert, they couldn't expect any resupply along the way.
At the same time, on the road to the village, Kratos recalled the map of the Ashar Desert and his past memories.
This was probably going to be a very long mission. In more ways than one.
***
The smell of blood? What the…?
"Everyone, pick up the pace!"
On the way to Kanta Village, the closer they got, the more the pungent smell of blood and the red glow of something burning filled the air. And then there was the clamor.
Lando spurred his horse on, shouting. This was undoubtedly a sign of battle.
A battle at the edge of the desert, a place where countless mercenaries stayed? This was a very dangerous sign.
The rest of the 10th Company also urged their horses faster, their expressions hardening.
The closer they got to the village, the thicker the scent of battle became.
Kratos's hand went to the strap of the hammer at his waist.
"Hold them back! Hold them back!"
"Use everything you've got! You wanna save it for hell?! You bastards!"
Atop the wooden palisades of Kanta Village, mercenaries were throwing everything they had at the monsters, trying to prevent them from breaking through. Below, piles of corpses were already stacked like mountains.
What in the world had happened in the single night it took them to travel to the village?
As Kratos drew nearer, he could feel his heart pounding louder and louder.
"Reinforcements! Reinforcements are here! It's the White Mercenary Corps!"
"Just hold on a little longer! Reinforcements have arrived! Everyone, keep fighting!"
Hearty cheers erupted from the mercenaries on the palisade.
Kanta Village was never intended to be a fortress with defensive capabilities; it was just a village. That made it several times harder to deal with a swarm of monsters like this.
*Fwoosh—*
A signal flare shot by Lando soared high into the sky, exploding in a white light that illuminated the surroundings. Seeing that signal, every member of the White Mercenary Corps would come running. And of course, word would reach the garrison as well.
"White Mercenary Corps! Wipe out all the monsters!"
"Uwoooaaah!"
As if waiting for those words, Kratos gripped the handle of his new hammer and launched himself from his galloping horse toward the monsters.
*BOOM—!*
He unleashed the monstrous brute force granted by his 101 stat, crashing down on a cluster of monsters.
The monsters' flesh and blood, unable to withstand the immense force, burst apart like shrapnel from a grenade, painting the surroundings red.
For a moment, the area fell silent, as if someone had hit a mute button.