Episode 58 - Brash Brigade: Beginning 3

The construction of the fortress was nearing completion, and the organization's internal setup was almost finished.

A mercenary company bearing a rough claw-mark insignia on their backs was moving toward Pink Rose Street.

The Wolfscarz.

One of the largest and most elite mercenary companies operating out of the Mercenary Kingdom — a full battalion of them had been slated to be deployed to the fortress Kaftin had seized, serving as the new security force.

But Kaftin's forced occupation had thrown the situation into chaos.

They had arrived without any siege preparations — and now found themselves needing to break through the defenses of a fortress that had been taken right out from under them.

"Damn it all! We got here, but... now what?"

"Relax, brother. The people inside — there can't be more than four or five of them, right?"

The battalion commander and newly appointed City Guard captain, Barkdin, was complaining — and his younger brother and First Unit commander, Nasim, was trying to smooth things over.

This security contract had been secured through a long-standing relationship of trust between the Maritime Kingdom and the Wolfscarz.

A law enforcement commission from an entire nation — the contract fee attached to it was anything but light.

No — more than the money, it was a matter of honor and credibility between two nations on the line.

Some drifter nobody had ever heard of called Kaftin had just dragged both the Mercenary Kingdom and the Wolfscarz through the mud.

"Sure, there can't be many of them — but in the worst case, if they've hired local mercenaries and barricaded themselves in for a siege, things get complicated."

"W-well, that's true, but..."

Nasim desperately racked his brain trying to improve his brother's mood.

Even he found the whole situation absurd — but the thought that they couldn't resolve it hadn't crossed his mind.

His brother and mid-level officer of the company, Barkdin, had reached the upper tier of Sword Expert.

And Nasim himself was no weak fighter either.

On top of that, the mercenaries under their command were hardened veterans without exception — many of them among the young elite that the Wolfscarz prided itself on.

No matter how he looked at it, the idea that they could lose to some ragtag group of four or five never entered his head.

"Nasim. You have something in mind?"

Nasim, who had been deliberating, came to a conclusion — and his eyes sharpened.

"Yes. Think about it, brother. Part of that fortress's walls are integrated with the royal capital's outer fortifications, right?"

"Ah..."

"If we get permission from the royal capital's City Guard commander to use that wall and push in through the rear gate — even if they try to hold us in a siege, we can take them easily."

"That's my little brother for you. That sounds about right. Fine — let's go with that."

At that same moment.

Kaftin's group had gathered around a map spread on the reception room's round table, and were discussing the same issue.

"...The rear gate is the problem, just as I thought."

"Definitely a nuisance. Leave it alone and we'll be dealing with it indefinitely."

"Can't we just block the door?"

Kaftin shook his head at Tide's suggestion.

"Whatever we block it with, the people on the other side are Mercenary Kingdom veterans. They'll find a way in — some trick, without fail."

"Th-that serious? I've heard the Mercenary Kingdom's mercenaries are something else, but..."

"You can bet on it. They will be beyond anything you're imagining."

"Ugh... that sounds dangerous."

"Heh... it is."

Kaftin slowly unrolled the fortress's floor plan next to the map.

"Hmmm..."

He rubbed his chin, closed his eyes, and ran through the mercenary company's attack in his head.

The opposing force would be at least a hundred.

Funneling all of that through the rear gate would present significant problems.

Which meant...

"...They won't all be pushing through the rear gate."

"What do you mean, suddenly?"

"Think about it. Their force is at least a hundred. But the outer wall of the royal capital is barely a meter and a half wide at most. Even packed in tight, you can fit two people side by side — just barely."

"Ah."

Kaftin traced his finger along the point on the map where the outer wall and the fortress wall connected.

"So even if they come that way, the rear gate contingent would be sixty at most. And some of those will cross the junction and descend the fortress wall into the front courtyard."

"Then the remaining forty or so would be...?"

"A standard frontal assault. Effective both as a diversion and as support for the rear gate attack — and as a pincer strike too."

Whispermere, who had been picturing Kaftin's assessment in her head, went pale.

A hundred battle-hardened mercenaries, wrapping the fortress in what amounted to a triple sandwich — pressing in from every side.

"C-can we hold them...?"

"Entirely possible. We have new allies now... I'd say we have a fair chance."

Kaftin's gaze shifted toward the terrace at the edge of the reception room, where a figure in a worn-out coat sat surrounded by a cloud of pigeons.

She called herself Mrs. Kukurina — a middle-aged woman.

About ten years ago, she had borrowed money at usurious rates from a villainous moneylender in some territory, lost everything, and had been living on the streets ever since.

Kaftin had heard rumors of her skill in training pigeons and sought her out personally to recruit her.

"Kukurina. Sorry — but as we discussed, this is the real thing. Are you ready?"

"......"

She gave a silent nod, and Kaftin met it with a smile.

She was even quieter than Platt — deeply introverted by nature. After years of rough experiences on the streets, she had developed what could only be described as an intense wariness around men, which had made recruiting her a considerable effort. He had no intention of forcing familiarity.

"Kukurina — I'd like you to handle the front courtyard. All you need to do is use the pigeons to block their line of sight and buy us time."

"...Is that... enough?"

"It might be cutting it close — but you've never done anything like this before, and there's the matter of how you feel about it. No need to push yourself."

"Boss... tell me. What do you want me to do?"

"......"

Kukurina was forcing the words out with visible effort, and Kaftin's eyebrow moved slightly.

He hadn't expected her to show this much initiative.

Perhaps she had the qualities that suited his organization more than he had initially thought.

"...Can you order the pigeons to peck out their eyes?"

"......!"

"...I'm joking—"

"I-I'll try... if that's what you need."

"......!!"

Maengseol inwardly sighed as he watched Kukurina.

There was something about her that faintly resembled Kaftin.

An intense, smoldering hatred directed at the world.

Her personality kept it hidden — but she was almost certainly carrying something no lighter than Kaftin's own burden.

"Thank you. And Maengseol."

"...Yes."

"At the rear gate, I'd like you to... buy us time — more specifically, find whoever looks like the strongest one and tie them up in a fight."

"That's an interesting assignment. Why?"

Kaftin rubbed his chin once.

"A mercenary company this size — and one the Maritime Kingdom government is paying a fortune to bring in. In the worst case, if there's even one Sword Master mixed in, strategy goes out the window entirely."

"I see."

Maengseol gave a nod of understanding, and Kaftin continued.

"I'm not asking you to win. Just stall them and buy time. Once their subordinates are all cut down, even a Sword Master has limited options."

"Understood. Stall for time, then fall back when needed."

"Exactly. That's all that's needed."

With Maengseol's assignment settled, his gaze moved to Platt.

"Platt."

"Y-yes... Boss."

"Heh... I'd like you to take care of everything below the rear gate — the lower floors of the keep."

"Eh, EH?! Me?!"

"What? Is there a problem?"

Kaftin tilted his head, and Platt fidgeted with evident discomfort.

The opposition was a company of hardened veterans.

He was worried whether someone like himself — whose only combat ability was commanding rats — could really hold against people like that.

"The lower floors are packed with guest rooms, guard quarters — a whole maze of them. Use that. Stay hidden and sweep through them with the rat horde."

"......!!"

"The serious fighters will be held at the front by Maengseol in the first wave, and the rest will almost certainly be making for this reception room where I'll be. You'll be fine."

Platt's head began to nod — and the Bulkro family, who had been listening from the side, raised a hand asking for their own assignment.

"What should we... be doing?"

"Ah. The Bulkro family's job is—"

Three days later.

The Wolfscarz mercenary company entered Pink Rose Street.

The streets, which had been unsettled since the Four Gang Lords' absence, went quiet in an instant.

The reputation of the wolf-claw insignia on their backs — one of the highest-ranked companies in the Mercenary Kingdom — had preceded them even here.

And naturally, the news reached Kaftin's ears as well.

"Wolfscarz...? That's fairly dangerous."

"Will we be alright? They're said to have fighters of exceptional ability practically crawling over each other lately..."

Whispermere was voicing her concerns beside Kaftin, who was receiving the report via pigeon in the Guard captain's private quarters.

This man was the king she had finally found.

She had no desire to lose him so soon.

"Heh heh heh... we'll be fine. Call it added thrill. Worst case, I just—"

"......!"

He grinned as if about to say turn into a monster and wipe them all out at once — and Whispermere quietly took hold of the hem of his clothes.

"I have... a question."

"What is it?"

"After you transform... is there a chance you might not be able to come back?"

The unexpected question made Kaftin pause for just a moment.

But he soon smiled — a slightly bitter one — and said:

"Yes. Small chance — but there's a possibility I might not return. Or that I might lose my reason."

"......!"

At those words, the hand gripping his hem tightened — and Kaftin gently wrapped his own hand around it and gave a quiet laugh.

"You think I'm the type to give up on myself that easily?"

"...I know that, but..."

"Hah... alright. As it happens, since we're fighting inside a building this time and I can't afford to tear the place apart — I was already thinking I'd have to seal that away for this one."

"Ah...!"

The fact that he spoke so readily about sealing away his most powerful weapon could only mean one thing — he had something else up his sleeve.

Whispermere had come to know Kaftin well enough to read that much by now.

"I'll... pray for your victory. A perfect victory."

"No need for prayers. Time spent on that would be better spent digging up more information on them. That's what I'd actually prefer."

"......!"

He was moving slowly toward her lips — and wearing that characteristic smile of his.

"Prayer changes nothing. Prayer improves nothing. What's needed isn't prayer... it's action."

"Ah...!"