Chapter 123

Translator: Willia

The ranger was a profession that best suited the attire of solitude and loneliness.

As a sort of sentinel, their original duty was to monitor the dynamics of remote border areas.

One or two years was nothing; they often lived alone in the forest for ten years or even their entire lives.

However, some rangers kept dogs, and to those rangers, the dog was a friend, a comrade, and family.

The problem was that, as time passed, the lords or kings who had assigned them the mission would die, and it was not uncommon for even the memory of their existence to fade away.

They were forgotten, buried in their solitary mission, solitary life, and solitary time.

The ranger of the Griffin Forest was such a case. No one remembered whether the Emperor had assigned them the mission or if it had been someone else long before.

Perhaps it was due to the loneliness that, after countless years, they naturally began forming a village.

No one could tell whether it had been 100 or 200 years since the day of the first mission. Now, there was no one left to give orders, no one to say anything, and yet the rangers continued to guard the border.

What defined their identity was still the mission.

Ricardt and the soldiers launched a sudden ambush during their march and then exited the forest, regrouping near the peak. Though “regrouping” was the word, in truth, everyone was so exhausted that they were sprawled out all over the place.

When fighting or running, the soldiers were driven by an immense surge of adrenaline and didn’t feel the exhaustion, but once the situation ended, they were little more than half-dead corpses.

So Ricardt personally counted the people to check the headcount. Truly, not a single person had been lost or injured.

The peak at the regrouping site was quite unique. Among the gently connected ridgelines, it stood out abruptly, appearing as if shattered and carved down, shaped almost like a bull's horn.

As they had fought in a frenzy, before they knew it, the sunset was upon them. Ricardt watched the lowlands for any sign of the enemy, then lifted his head and gazed at the western sky, burning red. A breeze blew, cooling his sweat.

But it wasn’t only Adeloron soldiers at the regrouping point. By coincidence, Lester and a dozen rangers who followed him were also present.

The situation had been too urgent for any greetings or exchanges; they had simply moved away from the battlefield and ended up here.

Turning away from the sunset and looking at Lester, Ricardt saw him sitting down, skillfully unstringing and tending to his bow.

The bow was a kind of consumable weapon. To use it properly over time, it required much more maintenance than blades.

Because if the wood warped, absorbed moisture, or the bowstring weakened, it would often fail in actual combat.

So they carried multiple bowstrings, constantly maintained them whenever there was a chance, and when not in use, always kept them by the fire to stay dry.

Even someone unfamiliar with bows could tell that Lester's hand movements were swift, meticulous, and precise.

Perhaps sensing Ricardt’s gaze, Lester glanced at him briefly before returning his focus to the bow maintenance.

When his busy hands finally came to a stop and he placed the bow near the fire, Ricardt spoke. He had been waiting.

“How is your grandfather doing?”

“He passed away.”

“Mm... I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t a great start to the conversation. However, Lester didn’t seem particularly bothered. Rather, he appeared indifferent, without a hint of sorrow.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Everyone eventually grows old and dies. Be it king or beggar, man or beast. And you and I as well. So there’s no need to be sad or apologetic.”

“...I agree.”

“Since my grandfather passed, I’m the Griffin now. That’s all there is to it.”

“Griffin?”

“The commander of the rangers of Griffin Forest.”

It seemed that the one who led the rangers of Griffinswald, that is, the Griffin Forest, was referred to as the “Griffin”. That was the word for it, but in reality, it was closer to a village chief or the head of a local militia.

It was a concept unfamiliar to Ricardt, so it was difficult to grasp precisely.

“By the way, isn’t it quite far from Griffin Forest to here?”

“All forests are connected. We’ve been here for about three years now. After the civil war broke out in Adeloron, many defeated soldiers crossed over and caused trouble.”

“Ah, did the Border Count summon you?”

“No.”

“Hmm?”

“No one needs to order us to protect the forest. We’ve been doing it since our ancestors, so I simply follow in their footsteps.”

In other words, they were guarding the border forest voluntarily, without being told by anyone.

It was not because of some noble ideology or honor, but simply because it had long since solidified into tradition, and so he naturally did the same.

Sleepy-looking eyes, an extremely indifferent expression, short hair with a rather thick beard. He was a man of few words who silently fulfilled his duty through action.

Ricardt had never seen the Griffin in person, but just like the noble and solemn creature well known to all, Lester seemed that way too.

“But having a large-scale force appear all at once like this must have been troublesome, right?”

“It was.”

While they might have been able to fend off and drive away a horde of defeated soldiers no matter how many, even for them, five thousand properly organized mercenaries were a burden.

Lester glanced around at the soldiers sprawled out, resting without even the energy to be wary of strangers, then looked back at Ricardt and spoke plainly, without weighing anything.

“They're strong and brave men. Though few in number, if they fight alongside us, we might be able to drive the enemy out. At the very least, they won't be able to build strange fortifications deep in the forest. Can you help us?”

In truth, it was Ricardt who needed help, but Lester wasn't a negotiator, so he simply spoke honestly as things were.

If he were a negotiator, he would have gauged the situation sharply and tried to extract favorable terms or benefits, even slightly.

But Lester had none of that. Perhaps he didn’t know much about the workings of the world because he had lived holed up in the forest for so long.

However, Ricardt liked that kind of purity the most. He despised fools who tried to be clever. And he had been born with the discernment to tell the difference.

Still, Ricardt didn’t answer immediately and sank into thought for a moment. At first, he couldn’t recall who Lester was, but now he remembered that moment as if it were alive again.

The smell of wood and glue, his grandfather’s wrinkled hands, Volka and the others, the enemies chasing after them. Wasn’t the current situation similar to that time?

So Ricardt, recalling his grandfather’s piercing voice, asked this:

“On what basis can I entrust the precious lives of my soldiers to you?”

Then Lester, after silently thinking for a moment, suddenly let a smile, tinted by the red sunset, spread across his stone-cold face.

“Trust your instincts. Look into my eyes and judge for yourself whether I’m trustworthy or not.”

It was exactly what Ricardt had said to his grandfather. That was enough. It meant their memories had connected. No handshake was needed, and a single smile was collateral enough.

Ricardt let the soldiers rest well, and only on the following day did he gather everyone and speak.

The surcoat marked with a white cross on a red background was somewhat worn from enemy spears, blades, and arrows, but that only proved he was brave, not a coward.

The border troops of Adeloron and the rangers sat or stood comfortably here and there, looking up at Ricardt who stood atop a rock. The cool morning air brushed the back of his neck, and it didn’t feel bad at all.

It wasn’t intentional, but with the morning sun slanting behind him, a dark shadow was cast over Ricardt’s face.

“I’ll make this clear. I will kill them all.”

Ricardt spoke resolutely. Whether that was logical or feasible wasn’t important. If he said so, then that was how it would be.

Ricardt’s words were like a heavy rock, or perhaps a vivid shade of red. There was no room for rebuttal or differing opinions. Because his words carried weight. And the source of that power was absolute belief.

“I have a plan. If you unite and follow it, we will succeed. If you hesitate and waver in doubt, we will fail miserably. This is clear. So I ask: will you follow me without the slightest doubt, or will you only pretend to?”

Then soldiers from here and there voiced their intent to follow. They didn’t shout loudly, but there was confidence in their eyes.

Because they had seen Ricardt pass through enemy camps of five thousand and return without a scratch, and previously they had witnessed him singlehandedly enter a force of tens of thousands to steal a banner.

The soldiers had both seen and experienced the impossible firsthand, so it was only natural that they would trust and follow that commander.

“Then I will explain the operation.”

Ricardt began explaining the plan to the soldiers and rangers. In simple terms, the rangers would harass the enemy in the forest, while Ricardt would lure them out with a solo assault.

Whether it would be accomplished in a day, take several days, or even months was uncertain, but the important part of the plan was that after luring the enemy, the ambushed soldiers would drive them into the gorge and push them off the cliff.

The concept itself was simple, but executing it required taking risks. And as always, Ricardt decided to step forward himself.

First, Ricardt had the soldiers familiarize themselves with the surrounding terrain for three days, then planned to carry out the operation at night.

The enemy was still struggling to recover and reorganize their devastated camp.

As the commander, he had to decide whether to abandon the forest or not, but it wasn’t an easy decision. The reason was sunk cost.

The use of stones and lumber for the construction, even equipment like cranes being brought in, all pointed to an enormous amount of money being spent, much more than expected.

Had they set up camp on an open plain, it would have been easier. But the reason they couldn’t do that was because they needed to cut off Adelivari’s food supply route at all costs.

So they couldn’t just say “ah, fuck it, it’s over” and give up. More importantly, the force was like a coalition of mercenaries. Halting the construction could damage the commander’s authority.

Thus, the mercenaries half-heartedly patched up the base and just stayed there. In other words, they were stuck, unable to move forward or back, aimlessly loitering around.

But was it comfortable to sit around doing nothing? Not really. They were operating away from the main force, so there were no prostitutes, and even alcohol was in short supply.

In truth, life in the forest was hard from the beginning. And after Ricardt’s recent assault, having suffered badly, it was only natural that they began questioning why they were doing this in the first place and grew dissatisfied with their commander.

“Fuck, if we’d just driven stakes into the field and pitched tents, this would’ve been over ages ago.”

In the dense forest where the starlit night sky was invisible, one of two mercenaries sitting by the fire vented his frustration.

“I never liked that they gave command to the engineering guys in the first place. I knew this shit would happen.”

“Fuck, there weren’t even that many of those bastards, and they got taken out like morons.”

“We could’ve just gone all together and punched each one in the face. That’d be enough to kill them, don’t you think?”

“There’s no way that coward bastard would do it.”

The current mercenary commander was reasonably competent, but since his specialty was fortification, he was a bit passive when it came to field operations.

The invincible Grantz had chosen him as the commander for a reason, because even if it was improvised, if a fortress was planted down, it could completely sever Adelivari’s supply line.

The problem was that things had gone off the rails now.

“By the way, did you hear?”

“What?”

“Felt didn’t get paid this time.”

“No way. I saw them hauling in a huge number of crates when they got here. You’re saying that’s all gone already?”

“Hey, did you see for yourself whether there was actually money in those crates?”

“Well, no... I mean, if you touch those things, you lose a hand.”

When dealing with mercenaries, the first rule was to pay their wages upfront. That’s why they always carried around crates full of silver or gold coins.

“Exactly. Maybe they didn’t bring much money, thinking the construction would finish quickly, and already used it all up.”

“Are you sure about that? That Felt didn’t get paid? That makes no sense.”

“Go wake him up and ask for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

It was a serious issue. Not getting paid. Whether it was daily or weekly wages, if it wasn’t paid properly, then why risk your life doing this?

Of course, it varied between mercenary groups. Some harshly oppressive units often had wages delayed for months.

And when it came to armies led by kings or high nobles, if wage arrears occurred, they could at least temporarily suppress discontent with their high status and authority.

But that wasn’t the case now. The commander was a fellow mercenary, a commoner. On top of that, the force wasn’t from a single mercenary group or company. So if wages were delayed even a single day, there was no reason to fight.

The moment wages were delayed, you could challenge the commander, not as a subordinate, but with, “Who the hell are you to order me around?”

“So?”

“So what?”

“Are we bailing?”

“If wages aren’t paid, leaving doesn’t count as desertion. Right?”

“Well, that’s true... Let’s make sure and ask Felt tomorrow.”

“Good. If it turns out we really didn’t get paid, there’s no need to argue or anything. Let’s just leave. This is bullshit. Fuck, Gus threw out his back hauling stones. What the hell are we even doing?”

“I thought they’d at least let us raid a village once construction was over.”

“That’s probably true? Didn’t the Great King promise to let us loose after the fort was done?”

The "Great King" referred to none other than the invincible Grantz. He called himself the Great King, and the mercenaries used that title for him like a sort of nickname.

“Then can’t he hurry up and just wrap this up somehow?”

“How about we gather some guys and go off on our own? The women looked pretty.”

He was suggesting desertion. Under normal circumstances, it would be unthinkable, but when a camp was this chaotic, it didn’t take long for mercenaries to start doing things like this.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. The girls from Beringen mostly have blond hair. It’s the North, after all. The water’s clean, so their skin is smooth too.”

At the mention of blond hair and smooth skin, the mercenary who first voiced his complaints grinned like an idiot. He had built up a good deal of sexual frustration, and his imagination took off immediately.

“Wow... how long has it been...”

But unfortunately, his fantasy would never come true. Because, out of nowhere, an arrow flew silently and suddenly and struck him in the neck.

Whoosh! Thwack!

“Gugh!”

He clutched at his neck and collapsed to the side. All he could do was let out choking noises, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t scream, as his throat was blocked. All that spilled from his mouth was bright red blood.

The mercenary who had been talking with him opened his eyes wide. He had to sound the alarm immediately, but for about a second, he froze. That second was his end.

Whoosh! Thunk!

This time, the arrow embedded itself in the center of his forehead, and his head snapped back sharply. He couldn’t even gasp; he just curled his fingers unnaturally and twitched for a moment.

It didn’t take long for the two mercenaries to die. A moment later, there was a soft rustling sound from somewhere, and Ricardt emerged at the fire.

The flickering flames pushed back the darkness and lit Ricardt up to his chin. The upper part of his face remained hidden in shadow, but his eyes glowed gold like tiny will-o’-the-wisps.

His gaze wasn’t on the two corpses, but on the enemy camp not far off, illuminated by bonfires and torches.

No starlight reached the forest. Though right now, it wasn’t needed anyway.

****

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