"A mercenary who doesn't die is third-rate. After all, the reason they're paid so well is to die in place of the nobles and the commoners."
Nobles often tossed around this little joke when speaking of mercenaries.
Naturally, every time such words reached their ears, the mercenaries' blood boiled.
When things were dire, the nobles acted as if they'd grant land and titles, but the moment the war ended, they spat out trash like that.
It was only natural that the longer a mercenary's career lasted, the more they grew to distrust and loathe the nobility. Having been hired by nobles multiple times meant they had witnessed more than their fair share of foul behavior.
Jake, a mercenary captain, was no exception.
'The excuses were truly endless.'
The enemy's casualties were too low; the leader wasn't killed, so it wasn't a true victory; it was merely a win in a local skirmish, and the overall tide of war remained unchanged.
All sorts of creative excuses would sometimes leave even the employer's own retainers feeling awkward.
Furthermore, while the excuses were remarkably creative, the conclusion was always the same: "I cannot give you the money we promised." That part was surprisingly consistent.
However, even Jake, who had heard countless excuses in his time, was hearing this particular brand of nonsense for the first time.
"Die for me."
"...."
Jake blinked blankly at the words of the knight standing before him.
Did I just hear that right?
If it were any other noble, maybe, but this man wasn't the type to spout such bullshit.
"I'm sorry. I've been tired lately, so my hearing is a bit..."
"You didn't mishear me. Die for me."
Crazy bastard.
Jake suppressed the curse rising in his throat and glared at the knight.
Had he lost his mind after the recent string of consecutive defeats?
Jake had already done enough to earn his pay and was planning to pull out soon, yet here the man was, bluntly asking him to die.
"Sir, do you know what my profession is?"
"A mercenary."
"So you do know. For a moment, I thought you'd mistaken me for a knight."
"I wish you were a knight instead."
If he were, the knight could have made the request without such a heavy heart.
The knight let out a sigh, closed his eyes for a moment, and then reopened them. Fatigue and self-loathing, previously unseen, filled his eyes.
"I apologize. It seems I spoke too abruptly. My words were open to misunderstanding."
"Misunderstanding?"
"In truth, I intended to ask you to lead a defensive battle. However, the situation is so desperate that the words slipped out wrong."
In other words, the mission was so dangerous it weighed on his conscience, making him unintentionally sentimental.
Honestly, the man had a way of giving someone a heart attack.
"It's fine. I can see why you'd feel that way."
Jake put on his professional business smile, hiding his true thoughts.
Regardless, the man was his employer's right hand. It would be troublesome if showing irritation caused problems with the final payment.
More than anything, even if it sounded unpleasant, that way of speaking was actually a form of consideration for a mercenary. Since the knight had given reasonable missions until now, he would likely maintain some level of decency, no matter how dangerous the task.
"The mission is simple. Tomorrow, the rebels will launch an all-out assault. While my lord escapes, I need you to hold the enemy back with me."
"...Excuse me?"
"Hold them for as long as possible—at least until I die. I will pay the remainder of your fee with this when you retreat."
The knight reached into his cloak and set something down with a thud.
It was a red gemstone as large as an adult man's fist. Judging by its brilliance, it was undoubtedly a 'Prince's Tear,' a gem mined only in the southernmost reaches of the continent.
A stone of this size would easily cover three years' worth of the mercenary group's wages.
But Jake didn't spare the gem a single glance; instead, his face contorted.
"Sir, did you eat something wrong yesterday?"
"I am perfectly sane."
"Madmen never admit they're mad."
"Watch your tongue. Even for you, crossing the line will—"
"You're the one who crossed the line! You want to drag us into your grave and get us buried with you? Do I look like an idiot to you?"
It sounded nice on paper. A heroic tale of knights staying behind to sacrifice themselves on a losing battlefield so their lord could escape. And in the midst of it, the mercenaries who fought alongside them are paid and sent on their way at the appropriate time.
A greenhorn who knew nothing of the world might have been fooled.
Unfortunately, Jake was a thoroughly jaded mercenary.
"You're the commander-in-chief. And you're saying you'll only send us away when you die? Right before we're all wiped out? Bullshit! You think the enemy is just going to let us walk away?"
"You are mercenaries, not knights, so the enemy won't pursue you too relentlessly—"
"To be precise, we're the mercenaries who've dealt them massive damage! To the enemy, grinding our bones into powder wouldn't be enough to satisfy them!"
Mercenaries have no reason to keep fighting once the pay stops. Therefore, the moment the employer dies, the mercenaries naturally flee, and the opposing side usually doesn't bother with a heavy pursuit. Chasing them down only to face desperate resistance would result in unnecessary losses.
The problem was that such a thing was only possible when there wasn't too much bad blood between the parties.
"Do you have any idea how much I've messed with them? Even the common foot soldiers get tremors just hearing my name. You really think they'll just let me go?"
No matter if a mercenary was hired for money, it meant nothing once the enemy saw red. Furthermore, Jake had once driven the enemy's headquarters to the brink of total annihilation.
It was obvious they would hunt him down to the ends of the earth, mercenary or not. He was already considering whether they'd send a pursuit party even if he ran now, yet he was being told to wait in plain sight in the middle of the battlefield.
"You're planning to use us as a sacrifice."
"...."
"You intend to force us to participate to buy time for your lord to flee? How impressive. It's so honorable I can feel my back bending in a bow all on its own!"
At the biting sarcasm, the knight bit his lip hard. He seemed to at least have a sense of shame, as his face was flushed with it.
But regardless, it was clear he had no intention of letting Jake leave.
"...If you will not follow orders, I will take back command. I'm sorry, but you must stay with us until the end."
"And if I refuse?"
"I'll have to use this."
Clink.
The knight's sword slid slightly from its sheath. It was a declaration that he would cut Jake down and take command of the mercenaries himself if necessary.
Jake scoffed at the absurdity of it. His men wouldn't follow anyone but him, so it was a pointless gesture.
However, the man before him had already decided to embrace dishonor. Explaining would fall on deaf ears, and even if the knight believed him, he would likely push through out of sheer desperation.
"You filthy bastard."
"I am sorry."
"Don't be. In fact, I should thank you for easing my guilt."
"What?"
"Since it's come to this, I'll have to take your head. It's too late to run anyway, so I might as well do what I can."
The knight's expression twisted instantly. Where apology had been, only contempt remained.
"I misjudged you."
"Oh? And how did you see me?"
"As a man who fulfilled his duties despite being a mercenary. I thought you were more knightly than most knights. But in the end, you are just another mercenary."
"Look who's talking. Are you really the one to say that?"
"No. But my heart is at ease now. If we are both trash, there is no need for me to hesitate."
Jake let out a hollow laugh. It seemed the knight thought Jake was doing this just to save his own skin.
Jake twisted his lips into a smirk, mocking the knight.
"You're mistaken about one thing. I have no intention of making it back alive."
"What?"
"Whether I refuse your offer or accept it, I'm dead. The problem is that my boys will die too. If that's the case, shouldn't I at least save them?"
"The enemy's pursuit..."
"If I offer your head along with mine, it'll work out somehow. After all, the one they hold a grudge against isn't the soldiers, but the captain."
The knight's eyes widened as if he hadn't expected those words. His eyes flickered for a moment before he finally took on a hollow expression.
"Ha... Haha. You're saying you'll die to save your subordinates?"
"I'm the one who brought them here with promises of a dream. I have to take responsibility for the failure. Isn't that obvious?"
"Obvious... Yes, it is obvious."
Shring.
The knight's sword was fully drawn. He settled into a natural stance that flowed like water.
A beat late, Jake drew his own sword, but he felt a bitter taste in his mouth.
'No openings, damn it. Just how many levels above me is he?'
He knew a few tricks to bridge the gap in skill, but he didn't think they would work against the knight before him. He wasn't exactly weak himself, but that was only by mercenary standards. Compared to this knight, who made even great heroes hesitate, he was severely lacking.
He might even die here before he could offer his head to the enemy.
Well, that wouldn't be a bad ending either. At least his men would desert the battlefield the moment they realized he was dead.
"I wish you had been my lord instead."
Unlike the tense Jake, the knight's voice was mournful. The lord who had abandoned his lifelong retainers to flee stood in stark contrast to the man before him.
A lord of noble blood and a mercenary captain of lowly birth.
But excluding the blood in their veins, who was truly fit to be a king?
Suppressing the lament that threatened to burst forth again, the knight spoke.
"I am sorry."
"Eat shit."
Slash!
Simultaneously with his reply, Jake swung his sword with all his might.
Then, with a brilliant flash, blood spurted from his neck.
He hadn't even seen when the sword was drawn or swung. He only realized he'd been cut by the slight sensation of something foreign and the fact that the knight's blade was already on the other side of him.
He had expected it, but the sheer speed of the conclusion left him feeling hollow.
'Damn it.'
Even in victory, the knight remained calm, as if he hadn't doubted his win for a single second. Seeing that face, devoid of even a hint of tension, Jake couldn't help but smile bitterly.
'Talent is a bitch...'
With that final thought, Jake's vision was dyed in darkness.
"...Master! Young Master!"
Jake suddenly woke up, feeling his head spin. Someone was shouting in his ear and shaking his body.
'...What? Am I alive?'
That was impossible. He could still vividly feel the sensation of the blade slicing through his neck. Even if a saint from legend performed a miracle, he shouldn't have survived.
Then, was this a dream?
"Young Master! Oh, Young Master!"
But the sensations were too vivid for a dream. The sound ringing in his ears made his skull rattle, and every time his body was shaken, he felt like he was going to vomit.
He wanted to tell them to stop, but before he could, the person raised their hand.
"Please wake up! If you go like this, I'll die too!"
Slap! Slap! Slap!
You crazy bastard, stop hitting me!
The palm was small, but it packed enough power to make his brain shake with every strike to his cheek. When both his cheeks were burning red, Jake couldn't take it anymore and shouted.
"Stop... I said stop...!"
"Y-Young Master! Are you awake!?"
Jake looked at the figure before him through blurry vision. Looking closely, it was a boy with a low voice and a small frame.
Just as Jake was about to protest the stinging pain, the boy burst into tears and cried out.
"You're safe, Young Master! I thought you were a goner!"
What? Young Master?
Jake blinked at the unexpected title.
'Young Master' was a term he had never heard addressed to him in his life. At best, a mercenary was treated like a semi-knight. Yet here he was, being called as if he were the scion of some noble house.
"No, after slapping me silly, what kind of nonsense are you—!"
Jake's body froze as he touched his swollen cheeks. The palm touching his face was incredibly soft.
Until just moments ago, his hands had been covered in thick calluses. His original hands could never have felt like this.
Wondering what was going on, Jake checked his own palms.
"...What the hell is this?"