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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: White Mercenary Corps (3)
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"Is it possible to get any files on Prometheus?"
Seamus tilted his head at the sudden request.
His expression and posture clearly showed he was more curious about what I had discussed with the Commander, but that wasn't something I was going to answer right now.
"Files on Prometheus?"
"Whether they're from the Resistance, the Mercenary Corps, or even external sources, it doesn't matter."
It was something I hadn't considered. After all, the ones who killed me were from the Empire.
Since I had been brought back to life, I had never once wondered what happened to my past self after I died.
Especially not when I was already frustrated by my inability to immediately hunt down and kill the bastards who murdered me.
"No, more importantly, what did you talk about with the Commander? Did he ask you to join the corps? No, you are joining, right? Where to? The training grounds first?"
"No, wait…"
"Or would you like to join our division? Captain Lando is dying to have you. We're always running missions on the front lines, and we can never have enough talent, right?"
What a chatterbox.
How could someone like this possibly possess skills suited for tracking and assassination? A talkative assassin?
Just the thought of it made me shudder. Kratos shook his head, watching Seamus's mouth run a mile a minute, as if he'd been waiting for the moment they arrived back at the Mercenary Corps.
"He asked me to join the corps, I haven't given him a definite answer yet, and I have no idea where I'd go."
"Hmm. Well, if you have a choice, pick the 10th Division! Definitely the 10th! And I'll see if I can find those files, though I'm not sure they exist."
"Is there really no information? I thought he was a pretty important figure."
At Kratos's question, Seamus looked at him as if he'd asked something ridiculous.
"After that day ten years ago, all records of Prometheus vanished. Throughout the entire Empire. Just a tip that someone possessed them was enough to trigger an investigation by the Intelligence Bureau."
"Hah. Right, well, just bring me whatever you can find."
"Mm-hm. Got it! You get some rest. I'll contact you as soon as I find anything."
*Click.*
Time had flowed like a raging river since my revival. New questions and facts kept popping up.
It seems my records were ordered to be destroyed.
It was obvious that bastard Ludwig Brandt came up with this.
He was always like that. The demonic energy probably just amplified his rotten personality. That was why I never appointed him to a key position when I was Chancellor.
*Hmph*, it's a thought I've had before, but my enemy is bigger than I imagined. Now that I'm alive again, I see that my foe isn't just an individual, but the Empire itself.
For now, it seemed I would have to wait and see what Seamus brought back.
***
It didn't take long for Seamus to return with the files.
"Luckily, the documents were still in the archives. The Commander readily gave his permission, too."
The book he waved in his hand as he presented it to me was quite thick.
I was expecting some simple information, not a whole book.
"It's a book recording his deeds. It's not everything, just bits and pieces from around the time we were promoted to a mercenary corps."
My god. A record of my deeds. What is this?
I calmed my racing heart and took the book.
[Prometheus became angry with the army commanders returning from war, telling them they must not treat the lives of themselves and their soldiers lightly.]
[Prometheus said, "A wise man of old once said: he who is prepared to die will live, while he who clings to life will die."]
[At his words, the captains prostrated themselves and wept…]
*Thud.*
I slammed the book shut much faster than I had opened it.
I didn't see that. No, I *refuse* to see that. I never said anything like that!
Oh, damn it. My face is burning. Of course! I did say something *similar*! It was a quote from Admiral Yi Sun-sin!
I said that after ensuring supplies, combat weapons, and soldier morale were at their peak, one must enter battle with the mindset of "he who is prepared to die will live, while he who clings to life will die"!
"Man. Every single one of his words is pure gold. My favorite part is the section on espionage."
Espionage, of all things.
"Espionage is the art of using spies. And Prometheus said that a man named Ezio Auditore was a master assassin. 'If no witnesses are left, that is a true assassination!' What a profound statement! Have you ever heard that one?"
No! You devil! That's not it!
Just how far was he going to push me toward death by embarrassment?
"Ahem. I'll read it and return it."
"If you're grateful, you know what to do, right? The 10th Division! Don't forget! Don't forget!"
Seamus retreated, chanting "10th Division" to the very end.
Seriously, if Mike Hoare were to ask me which division I wanted to join while I was in a daze, I might just blurt out, "I want to join the 10th Division!"
"Hoo."
Once things had calmed down, I opened the book again. This time, not from the beginning, but toward the end. From the point where I was thought to have died.
[The day after the Imperial Founding Festival. A rumor spread like wildfire that Prometheus had plotted a rebellion.]
The characters were written with a fury that pressed into the page.
[He would never do such a thing. No one was more dedicated than him!]
[However, the Imperial Intelligence Bureau framed Prometheus for treason, summarily executed him, and announced that his body had been torn to pieces and scattered across the Empire. All in a single night!]
[There was no minimal defense, no confirmation of facts. Only the announcement. We couldn't even confirm the state of his body. For predicting the act of treason, Ludwig Brandt was appointed Director of the Central Intelligence Bureau.]
It was just as I had thought. Ludwig Brandt. I didn't know his exact position, but it was clear he had played a leading role in my death.
[The name Prometheus has now become taboo in the Empire. His honor has been dragged through the mud. He is now recorded as the worst of villains, one who betrayed his comrades on the most joyous of days in an attempt to swallow the Empire whole. This cannot be.]
[Any household found possessing even the smallest piece of information or a single booklet related to Prometheus was utterly destroyed. All of this happened in less than a month after his death.]
So, not only did they kill me, but they also trampled my honor and tried to erase my very existence from this continent.
"Damn it."
What should I call this feeling that remained after reading the final page? Even in the flood of my many memories, I couldn't find a word to accurately express my emotions.
Though this book didn't cover a long period, it was enough to grasp the situation in the couple of months following my death.
And the last sentence of the book.
[Therefore, I intend to uphold his will and reorganize the Resistance.]
Fine, let's say my honor was shattered, my records were falsified, and I was sentenced to erasure.
Then what about the people who followed me? What happened to the ones I recruited and trained, the ones who earned merit in the war?
They were talents I had carefully selected to build the foundation of the Empire. Even Rzhev was being treated like that.
Hoo. What happened to the people who were less influential or capable than him?
My anger mounted, and the unanswerable questions multiplied.
Fuck. The curses just spill out.
I've stalled long enough, procrastinated enough. I need to go to Mike Hoare and accept his offer to join the Mercenary Corps. If only to change all of this.
***
Kratos's position in the White Mercenary Corps was truly ambiguous.
The rumor that Mike Hoare had offered him a place in the corps had already spread far and wide.
The problem was, although Kratos had apparently accepted the offer, there had been no news since.
As a result, all sorts of rumors began to circulate.
That he had refused to join, that he had some sort of secret relationship with Commander Mike Hoare, that Kratos was someone's son—all kinds of wild speculation.
On top of that, Kratos's status was incredibly vague. He hadn't gone through the corps' apprenticeship, his identity was unknown, and he was a parachute hire to whom the Commander himself had extended an invitation.
Furthermore, monsters were running rampant everywhere, and the problem in the Ashar Desert remained unresolved.
Even though it was Imperial territory, the Ashar region was more heavily influenced by the White Mercenary Corps. This meant that the longer the desert issue went unresolved, the harder it would be for the corps to maintain the people's trust.
Of course, not all mercenaries in the corps were part of the Resistance, so they didn't know the full story.
The important thing was that, regardless of the facts, the mercenaries' pent-up frustrations, which had nowhere else to go, were suddenly directed at the newly arrived Kratos.
"That's the bastard, right?"
"Yeah. That bastard. Never seen him before. How can you trust some shady guy you don't even know."
In the main dining hall, where countless mercenaries were eating.
A few mercenaries grumbled behind Kratos, their faces full of discontent, as he barely touched his food with a deeply furrowed brow, lost in thought.
They couldn't understand what the captains or the Commander were thinking.
Not only were they treating this unknown man like a guest of honor, but they were considering placing him directly in a division instead of sending him to the training grounds!
If Kratos had heard them, he might have thought, *Ah, so the fantasy novel cliché is happening to me, too.*
But at that moment, three tables away, Kratos wasn't just eating; he was practically inhaling his food.
One of his legs was even sticking out from under the table, poised to spring up at a moment's notice.
"How do we screw that bastard over?"
"Are you sure? He's the Commander's guest."
"That's why we can't do it openly. We have to do it secretly. Honestly, it's not like we're the only ones who have a problem with him."
As the other two conversed, a burly, blond mercenary slammed his spoon down on the table with a *thud*.
"We are mercenaries of the White Mercenary Corps. We can't stoop to such tactics. We handle this the man's way!"
"Then how…? Surely not? You wouldn't, Reinhardt!"
"Just watch."
Doug Reinhardt, a mercenary from the 12th Division, shot up from his seat and stomped toward Kratos.
What they were talking about was not the way of men!
"Are you Kratos?"
It felt like a mountain was moving. He was over two meters tall with enormous muscles.
The moment Kratos looked up at Reinhardt with a "what is this?" expression.
"My name is Doug Reinhardt. I challenge you to Mak'gora, a sacred duel of warriors."
Kratos sighed and covered his face with his hand.
***
A sacred duel of warriors, Mak'gora.
Sacred, my ass. Back when I was Prometheus, the young pups in the corps fought so fiercely they looked like they were trying to kill each other, so I just suggested a dueling method called Mak'gora.
Of course, it wasn't a fight to the death like in the games. It was bare-handed. No energy of any kind could be used, and the fight would continue until one person declared defeat or was unable to continue, all in front of witnesses.
Naturally, there were exceptions for mages, shamans, and the like.
"He who refuses to fight is cast out. The loser must grant one request from the victor, within reason."
The word "Mak'gora" sent a wave of heat through the dining hall.
"Ooh! Mak'gora! Doug and the guest are having a Mak'gora!"
"A Mak'gora has been declared! Spread the word!"
"Mak'gora! Mak'gora! Open the dueling grounds!"
"You idiot! He has to accept first!"
These damn simple-minded mercenaries. How is it that even after ten years, their habits and the atmosphere here haven't changed one bit?
"Hah… I know what Mak'gora is."
"When do you want to fight? I can give you up to three days. You're a novice, so you'll need time to prepare!"
His eyes were wide and intense. It wasn't a look of contempt.
Rather, it felt like he genuinely desired a battle between warriors. To think mercenaries like this still existed.
In the White Mercenary Corps, avoiding a Mak'gora was tantamount to being branded a coward or unfit to be a mercenary.
In other words, there was no backing out. But I really don't have time for this right now.
"Are you afraid?! I can understand! It is only natural to feel fear before the great Doug Reinhardt."
*Twitch.*
If this were an anime, I imagine that sound effect would have played right above my head.
According to the rules of Mak'gora, you can't use weapons or aura anyway. In that case, he's a one-shot for me.
A single punch.
"Well, no point in dragging things out with a small fry. Let's do it right now."
"Woooah! Awesome! That's a real man!"
At my response, a satisfied smile spread across that Reinhardt bastard's face.
"You are a man as well! Excellent! Though I am no small fry!"
"Lead me to the dueling grounds. I have a lot to do."
"Gahaha. I hope your skills match your confidence!"
Who could resist watching a good fight? I headed toward the dueling grounds, surrounded by dozens of mercenaries.
My head was already a complicated mess. I had agreed to join the corps, but there was still no word on where or how I would be assigned.
I wanted to get stronger quickly, but the Commander was silent. And now I had to waste time on this nonsense?
Or maybe… this was for the best? Yes, maybe I can clear my head by fighting.
Besides, I hadn't properly moved my body since my wounds had fully healed.
Alright, let's see you try your best today.