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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: The Overlord's Appearance (2)
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If the combat power of the barbarian tribe led by Gundika was rated at 100, how much would the strength of the Paulownia Mercenary Corps, led by Attila, amount to?
After training the mercenaries for a few days, Attila came up with a rough answer.
'Being generous, it'd be 30 points at best.'
Of course, more than 20 of those points came from Attila himself.
No matter how thoroughly Attila knew the strategies and tactics the Akten Count's army would employ, it was a gap he could never close.
'The duke's commanders have no reason to blindly follow my words.'
In fact, even if they did believe him, it would be a problem.
The more results he achieved, the more his presence would be exposed to the commanders, and the rumors spreading from there would eventually reach Charles's ears.
'Can't have that. I need to stay hidden within the mercenary corps and move quietly.'
The Paulownia Mercenary Corps had officially become part of Lord Bertrand's forces.
However, Attila and the mercenaries planned to operate separately, engaging in guerrilla warfare.
He had already obtained permission from the lord.
'Conduct guerrilla operations to defeat the Akten Count's army piecemeal.'
Of course, while deftly avoiding the unit led by Charles.
That was how he planned to make up the 70-point deficit in combat power.
But no matter how he thought about it, it seemed impossible.
'Excluding Otto, they're all too weak. The three ex-knights are at least decent.'
Yet Attila wasn't worried.
Because he had.
"You. Become my comrade."
Rashid of the Hassasin.
"What? Comrade?"
Rashid looked utterly baffled.
"Hassasin assassins don't team up without the order of the cult. Especially not with an outsider who isn't even from the cult."
"Why? Don't like it?"
"It's a question not worth answering."
"Even if your neck snaps?"
"...."
Before he knew it, Attila had seized Rashid's throat.
Sweat beaded on Rashid's forehead.
'Me—a master of the cult's dagger arts and a second-grade assassin—unable to even sense his presence. Just what is this guy?'
A second-grade assassin of the Hassasin.
An elite rank, one foot in the realm of true masters.
To put it simply, on par with Okhtar of the Black Wolf Tribe?
"Don't worry, Rashid. I'm not asking you to move with us."
"What?"
"You just handle the tasks I assign you. Very secretly and quietly."
"Assassinations, you mean."
Attila grinned.
Rashid shuddered at the sight, like a beast baring its fangs and growling.
That was when it happened.
"Huh? Boss, you an assassin or somethin'?"
Otto, who apparently had exceptional alcohol tolerance, had woken up at some point and was blinking at the two men.
* * *
It wasn't hard to put a ring through Rashid's nose.
The man had a hidden daughter, and when Attila rattled off her personal details, Rashid dropped to his knees and swore loyalty.
"Agh, Lord Attila! Please, not her!"
Of course, Attila had no real intention of going after her.
She would later become one of the heroes of the Bawang Hero Chronicle, a comrade of Charles Ainheart.
'I can't touch Charles, nor anyone who'll become his comrade.'
Charles had to follow the script as planned.
After much deliberation the night before, Attila had decided on how to reach the Fairy Kingdom.
'Let Charles go first, then follow behind.'
That was the most realistic and reliable method.
The reason Charles could become the first human of this era to reach the Fairy Kingdom was largely due to the power of his bloodline.
Lying on his bed, Attila loosely clasped his hands over his chest and offered a prayer he'd never done before in his life.
"Grow big and strong just like that. Charles."
The bear cub watching him panted with its tongue out.
* * *
"Hmm? He's prayin'?"
Batory Erzsébet, peering at Attila through her crystal orb, muttered to herself with a pleased expression, as if she'd finally found a clue, and chanted a spell under her breath.
Then she shouted.
"What? No god accepts prayers like that?"
Batory clutched her head with both hands.
"The more I learn, the more lost I get. He's not praying to the barbarian gods of the west, nor to the war god Ares, and that bizarre way of praying while lounging in bed—what god's servant is that child, exactly?"
* * *
Warm spring had passed, and on a day when summer's scorching sun beat down on the continent's south, the war began.
"Smash them! Slaughter every last coward of Akten!"
"Fight! Crush the vile Gascony invaders! Let none escape alive!"
In the war's early stages, the Gascony Duke's army, leveraging forces twice the size of their foes, held the advantage with overwhelming power.
But as it dragged into the mid-stages, the tide slowly began to turn.
Thanks to a certain mercenary corps hired by Count Akten.
"Th-that's the Golden Lion Mercenary Corps!"
"Then that guy is...!"
"Golden Lion Mercenary Leader, Charles Ainheart!"
A man with sea-blue eyes and long golden hair flowing like waves, wielding his sword like a painting come to life.
A holy scene straight out of ancient murals known only in legend.
Yet wherever he passed, the thick scent of blood lingered, and only the wreckage of death remained in his wake.
"D-death god! He's gotta be the god of death!"
"The Mercenary King! It's the reincarnation of Mercenary King Carthage!"
The Golden Lion Mercenary Corps hadn't shone from the start.
Their original leader, a skilled mercenary named Leon, had fallen in their first battle against the Gascony Duke's elite forces.
"L-Leader!"
It wasn't a lack of skill on his part.
He'd simply drawn the worst possible opponent from the outset.
But the Golden Lions' misfortune didn't end there.
"V-Vice-leader!"
"My god! Even the charge captain!"
In that single day, they lost not only the vice-leader but all the captains leading each company.
"I-it's over! We're dead meat now!"
Deprived of all commanders, the Golden Lion Mercenary Corps naturally fell into panic.
That was when Charles charged in like a storm, beheaded the enemy leader, and rallied the mercenaries.
"Draw your swords! Don't give up until the end!"
Soon, the retreat signal sounded.
Though they lost the battle, Charles safely led the surviving troops back to base.
"Charles Ainheart!"
"The only one fit to be the new leader of the Golden Lions is Charles Ainheart!"
The mercenaries who returned alive showered fervent cheers on Charles, who had stayed at the rear until the last moment, cutting down pursuers.
Moved by his comrades, Charles and his horse were said to be drenched head to toe in fresh blood, without a single gap.
Of course, not everyone took kindly to Charles.
"Charles as the next leader?"
"A snot-nosed 16-year-old kid as leader? Even a stray dog would laugh."
Mostly the veteran mercenaries of the Golden Lions.
They had never warmed to Charles, a war orphan who caught Leon's eye and joined the corps.
"New leader of the Golden Lion Mercenary Corps! Charles Ainheart!"
"Waaaaah!"
But backed by the majority's will, Charles ascended to leadership without much fuss.
And then, the dark side hidden beneath his beautiful face fully revealed itself.
"Ch-Charles!"
"You're abandoning us like this?!"
He drove the subordinates who openly disrespected and disobeyed him into the jaws of death.
"F-forgive us, Charles!"
"We were wrong! We'll follow you to the grave!"
To those sobbing with tears and snot, Charles said:
"Right here, right now, obey my command and die."
Having purged the rebels, the Golden Lion Mercenary Corps was rebuilt under their hero Charles and began dominating the battlefield.
The Gascony Duke's army trembled at the mere mention of the Golden Lions or Charles.
But the fame gained in this war wasn't theirs alone.
"That's him! The monster of the Paulownia Mercenary Corps!"
"The executioner cleaving men with a giant axe!"
"The butcher hungering for blood and flesh!"
All names for Attila.
'Damn it. I thought a Hassasin blade would hold up at least a bit.'
It was certainly far sturdier than a normal sword.
But it didn't last three days.
'I really didn't want to use the Dragon Jaw Axe.'
Even the hand axe he carried as backup was likely to break in this kind of warfare if he failed to control his strength.
In the end, it was the Dragon Jaw Axe—or rather, Muhul.
Attila chose the Dragon Jaw Axe.
"Screw it!"
Wherever Attila charged, bones, flesh, and entrails sprayed into the air.
"H-hey, don't go alone, wait for us!"
Otto and the Paulownia mercenaries were frantic chasing after him.
And in doing so, they clearly saw it.
'Th-that ain't human!'
'We were gonna fight a monster like that?'
'If the boss hadn't run when he did, we'd all be dead that day.'
'Then the boss's foresight saved us!'
Meanwhile, the old assassin under Attila's orders was fulfilling his role to the letter.
"Gahk...!"
"Wh-who is it!"
"Assassination! The commander's been assassinated!"
"Everyone up! Seal the camp!"
Mocking them, Rashid slipped leisurely out of the enemy camp shrouded in darkness.
"Damn it! Everyone, grab torches!"
The torches the count's army lit for pursuit only tightened the noose around their own necks.
"Draw swords! We'll catch that assassin—gahk...!"
"I-incredible! The deputy commander...!"
"Gaaaaah!"
The deputy commander collapsed with a gruesome tearing sound, his body bisected and spilling crimson guts.
The moment the soldiers spotted the massive axe embedded there, they screamed in terror.
"That's it!"
"The executioner's axe!"
"It's him! The hellish butcher has come—!"
With a crunch, the screaming soldier's head spun away.
The rest fell to the blades of the pursuing Paulownia Mercenary Corps, turned to bloody pulp.
Otto said.
"Heh heh. Shall we charge then, Lord Attila?"
Attila yanked the Dragon Jaw Axe from the ground and answered with a grin.
The bear cub, acting like a captain, led the way with a roar.
Kiaaong!
* * *
In a forest detached from the war's heart.
Sachsen Gascony, second son of the Gascony Duke, forcibly steadied his trembling body.
'An incredible presence. The aura of a chief leading a vast horde.'
It had been a long journey.
The success of this matter would drastically alter his standing in the family.
A negotiation of utmost importance.
'It must succeed!'
Sachsen closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and focused his mind on the purpose of his visit.
His trembling gradually subsided.
When Sachsen opened his eyes again, not a trace of hesitation remained on his face.
"They demand an explanation for why they should risk their lives to aid the duke in this war."
The interpreter said to Sachsen.
Of course, Sachsen was fully prepared.
"I shall explain."
Staring straight at the man across from him, he called his name.
"Great Chief Munjuk."