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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: The White Mercenary Corps (4)
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"What's going on? What's going on? Why's the duel grounds gate suddenly open?"
"Kratos and Doug Reinhardt are having a Mak'gora!"
"Mak'gora! Mak'gora! Get the word out to everyone holed up in their rooms!"
The atmosphere felt like a massive festival had just begun. The heat was intense, as if every single person in the mercenary corps headquarters had gathered.
A festival ground, set up in an instant.
"Ten gold on Doug! Always go with the safe bet!"
"I'll put five gold on that Kratos fellow! Life's about taking risks!"
"Tsk. You take risks like that, and you'll end up in a ditch!"
"You're the one who doesn't get it! Don't come crying to me later!"
What in the world was this mercenary corps? I may have founded it, but this was enough to make my head spin.
It had been barely ten minutes since I'd walked from the mess hall to this dueling ground. But in those ten minutes, the place had become packed with people.
From vendors selling all sorts of food to betting pools?
Was all this really possible in just ten minutes?
Just how starved were these people for this kind of event? Then again, it wasn't like there was much entertainment to be had in the Ashar region.
Wow, but what if I had refused? The whole thing would have been a bust.
"Are you ready?!"
I didn't need any preparation. It was a bare-knuckle brawl. I had, however, made sure to stretch properly.
How embarrassing would it be to get a cramp in the middle of a heated fight?
"Hurry up and fight! Hurry!"
I could see some of the so-called Commanders in the crowd, munching on something and chugging beer as if they were thoroughly enjoying themselves.
Careful, careful. I should drag this out a bit, make it more like a sport than a real battle. Right. Like the UFC. UFC.
If I threw a proper punch, he'd be dead in one hit.
I'm not kidding. He could actually die.
*Tuk-*
As we tapped our fists together, the referee signaled the start.
There was no need for witnesses. Look at how many eyes were watching.
"Woooooah! Somebody win!"
"Let's see some fists fly! Reinhardt! Show him the power of the mercenary corps!"
"Whoa! Let's see what the newbie's got!"
"He's not a newbie yet!"
"Who cares! He will be soon enough!"
I set my feet shoulder-width apart. I lifted my heels slightly and brought my hands up to my chest.
The boxing stance of Mike Tyson, something I'd seen on YouTube once.
Reinhardt, as if possessed by some Russian bruiser, puffed up his massive frame even more and charged at me.
Though his name sounded more German. Anyway.
Hmm. If you put that guy in thick armor and gave him a shield, he'd really live up to his namesake.
You know the one. From that game that took the world by storm, *Overwatch*. The tank from that game.
I couldn't just kill a man in a sacred duel.
Channeling my inner Mike Tyson, I bounced on my feet, ducked into his guard, and let fly a one-two jab-jab!
An uppercut through the gap in his arms.
This was surprisingly difficult. It was easy to throw a punch with all my might, intending to kill.
It was much harder to hold back and handle him with just the right amount of force.
Just look. Look at that massive body, foaming at the mouth and collapsed on the ground after that final uppercut.
Wait? Final?
"Uh… Hey! What are you doing, collapsing now! Hey! Get up! Get up! I'm not even warmed up yet!"
The giant had fallen to a single uppercut. Well, to be fair, he was already half-dazed by the second jab. Both had landed squarely on his face.
I belatedly slapped Reinhardt's cheek, but what reaction could I expect from a man who was already unconscious? His head just lolled back and forth with my hand.
'Dammit. This isn't how it was supposed to go.'
A one-minute knockout. That's how long it took from the referee's signal, to the tap of our fists, a brief moment of sizing each other up, and then him hitting the floor after my jabs.
The surroundings fell silent. The once-raucous dueling ground was now quiet.
One second, two seconds, three seconds.
"Waaaaaaaaah!"
"Holy shit! What was that! It was a one-shot!"
"That Doug Reinhardt guy went down in one hit!"
"Holy crap! The underdog came through!"
"Aargh! My ten gold! Dammit! Dammit! That was my life savings!"
The area descended into chaos once more. It was over far too quickly.
"He just got lucky! Did you see that last punch land on his jaw? It must have rattled his brain."
"Luck is a part of skill!"
A giant over two meters tall had been, in a word, instantly deleted by a slender outsider who looked to be about 180 centimeters.
You could probably chew on a piece of boneless chicken for longer than that fight lasted. What a shame. Tsk.
The mercenaries, now numbering in the hundreds, began their own post-fight commentary on the Mak'gora that had ended too soon.
However, opinions were divided and far from unified.
Some called it a fluke, others skill. I wasn't satisfied either. So, what was the answer?
Continue, of course.
And in a duel like this, without mana, there was no way I could lose. A pure physical fight without mana, and I lose? That would be like the game admin using cheats.
"Anyone else want a fight? My fists aren't warmed up yet."
I said it a little loudly, intentionally making sure everyone could hear. The murmuring died down once again.
Was I some kind of human audio volume control? To think the atmosphere could change so drastically with my every action.
This was fun.
"I'll be your next challenger!"
"Booo! What's a referee doing challenging someone!"
"That's cheap!"
"Shut it! Then you guys be the ref! Weren't you the ones who pawned off the duty on me because you didn't want to do it!"
The mercenary who had been acting as referee cracked his knuckles and climbed onto the dueling ground.
"I challenge you next! Barret Labart of the 2nd Company."
"Heh. Good! This is how a duel should be! Everyone else who wants a turn, form a line! This will continue until I fall!"
My declaration reignited the fire in the mercenaries, and they started shouting that I was an arrogant bastard as they rushed down to the dueling ground, forming a line among themselves.
"Arrogant punk! Let's see if your skills are as big as your mouth!"
"Hey! Get in line! Get in line, you bastard! No cutting!"
Since the last fight ended too quickly, this time I focused on defense. Barret Labart, perhaps conscious of my strength, approached cautiously.
He seemed to have learned how to throw a punch somewhere; his stance was nothing to scoff at.
*Whoooosh-*
Huh?
After a few exchanges, as I carefully watched my opponent's movements, time suddenly seemed to slow down, and I felt his motions being recorded in my head.
The path of his fist came into view, and I could predict where he would move.
I dodged his punch with a slight tilt of my head.
An opening—
As he extended his arm, an opening was created, and my fist shot out instinctively.
How could I possibly resist an opening like that!
*Kudangtang-*
Even as Barret Labart went flying out of the ring as if hit by a cannonball, I clenched and unclenched my fist, trying to feel that sensation again.
That was right. It was the same then. When I was escaping the capital, the feeling I got when fighting that guy from the Central Intelligence Bureau.
My opponent's movements entered my mind, and I felt as if I could replicate them all.
No, I'll correct that. I *can* replicate those movements.
As if I were using a game skill. Of course, it wasn't as if a skill was actually registered in a skill window.
When the hell was this skill going to register? I had no idea.
"What a… brute."
"How is he that strong? Is he really wearing some kind of artifact?"
"That's some seriously monstrous strength. What the hell is he…?"
"The Commander must have had a good reason for scouting him. With strength like that."
My, my. A brute? That's a bit harsh to say to someone as intellectual as me.
That aside, I needed more. More samples. I needed more examples.
"This is getting boring! I'll take on two at a time!"
"Dammit! Someone knock him down a peg! Have you no shame!"
As expected, looking down on one's opponents was an excellent method of provocation.
***
The Mak'gora had long since ended in Kratos's victory. What was happening now was, for all intents and purposes, a sweaty mercenary brawl.
"Wow. He handles the men almost as well as a Commander."
One of the Commanders who hadn't responded to Kratos's provocations muttered, watching the dueling ground with an intrigued gaze.
"He can talk like that because he has the skill to back it up."
"Has the Commander-in-Chief given his answer yet?"
"Not yet. He's still considering it, I hear."
"I just can't understand it. Shouldn't he obviously start as a trainee?"
At Iscario's grumbling, the other Commanders smirked and gestured with their chins toward the ongoing duel.
*Thud-*
Another large man crashed to the floor of the dueling ground.
"The winner! Kratos!"
"Holy shit! That's eight wins in a row!"
"Somebody stop him! Aren't you guys embarrassed!"
The eighth challenger fell, and the ninth stepped up.
In terms of opponents, it was already sixteen men. He had been fighting two at a time since the second match.
Kratos's body was drenched in sweat, but he still looked like he had plenty of stamina.
"Wouldn't it be a waste to have him start as a trainee? He looks like he could be sent into actual combat right away."
"I, for one, would love to have him assigned to my company. A man of skill is always welcome."
"Hmm. His physical strength is truly exceptional. That man hasn't thrown a single punch with his full power."
Iscario, looking annoyed, stood up abruptly and stormed into the mercenary headquarters building.
The twelfth challenger fell to the ground just like the mercenaries before him, followed by the cries of despair from the others.
How could they not beat this one man? Even in a bare-knuckle fight!
"Aaargh! He's strong!"
"I'm next! Me! Get in line!"
"That brute won again!"
"Isn't this some kind of new record?"
Heat radiated from the dueling ground below, and even the company members shouted in amazement. Emotions are contagious, whether negative or positive.
"I wonder how many he can beat."
"I'm curious too. Just how long can he keep winning?"
Glen Pendley glanced up at the highest point of a building on one side of the dueling ground.
He had seen the Commander-in-Chief's silhouette through the half-drawn curtains.
Even though he had served him at close quarters for so long, he could never be sure what the Commander-in-Chief was thinking.
He had heard that Kratos had agreed to join the mercenary corps. In that case, a decision should have been made about his assignment, but the Commander-in-Chief had entered a period of deliberation.
It was aspects like this that caused some mercenaries to harbor discontent.
But at this point, no matter where Kratos was assigned within the corps, there would surely be no opposition.
Wasn't trust among mercenaries ultimately born from skill and the belief that you could entrust your back to someone?
With his victory in the Mak'gora and now his thirteenth consecutive duel win, Kratos had definitively erased any doubts about his abilities.
***
"Kratos will be…"
While the duels were still ongoing outside, a meeting of the Commanders had been convened. Mike Hoare sat at the head of the table, his eyes sweeping over them.
"Rotated through all the companies in sequence. Starting with the very front lines. The places where they come face-to-face with monsters."
With those words, Mike Hoare rose from his seat and entered his office, which also served as his training room.
The directive had been given. The rest could be coordinated by the Vice-Commander and the other Commanders.
"In that case, Kratos's first assignment will be…"
"The 10th Company. Lando."
"Yes, Vice-Commander."
Lando simply nodded. It was about time for them to head out on a mission anyway, now that their rest period was over.
Of course, if Seamus heard this, he'd surely pout up a storm, complaining that he'd barely had any rest before being sent out again.
"Desert reconnaissance. Deep into the desert. An additional objective is to investigate the cause of the unusual phenomena there. The previous companies covered at least a two-week distance, so you'll have to go further than that."
"Understood."
"And if possible, while a solution might be too much to ask, it is my personal wish that you at least discover the cause."
"I will do my best."
The problem in the desert needed to be resolved. Although they had been gradually expanding their search area, the damn monsters were the issue.
There were just too many of them. No one knew where all these monsters were spawning from.
"The 12th and 3rd Companies will patrol the Ashar Desert. The monsters are running so rampant that even small villages are now under real threat. As you know, we are the only ones those villages can look to."
"Understood."
No matter how small, every village was crucial to the White Mercenary Corps, serving as both intermediate bases and supply points.
But the monster threat was now affecting even those small settlements.
After that, a few more companies were given additional assignments, while those who had been on long-term missions were granted leave.
"What rotten luck. We went through hell getting caught up in the war up north, and now it's desert reconnaissance."
"A mercenary's job is to follow orders and get paid."
Lando let out a hollow laugh at the remarks of a few Commanders. Inwardly, however, he was also worried. The 10th Company wasn't the first to be sent on desert reconnaissance.
Which meant that no one had managed to solve the problem. Not even Glen Pendley of the 1st Company.
Probably. No, certainly.
This was bound to be an incredibly difficult mission.
***
My hands were trembling so much I could barely hold my spoon.
On top of that, I had gotten carried away in the dueling ground and ended up knocking down over thirty men. Thirty-three, to be exact.
There was no doubt I had gone wild, captivated by that strange sensation I felt with every fight.
Yeah, it was like in the movie *The Matrix*, downloading a martial arts manual into your brain and then actually being able to do it.
In my case, it was more like recording than downloading, though. Like on the show *CHUCK*.
Come to think of it, didn't Neo say it in *The Matrix*?
'I know Kung Fu.'
Just as I was striking a kung fu pose from the movie and patting myself on the back…
"Ahem. Kratos. You have a mission!"
Seamus burst through the door and shouted.
Ah, is it time to grind some EXP?