“That’s far enough.”
Just then, a low, deep, oppressive voice rang out. Debian flinched and turned his head. Allen’s gaze followed as well.
The hulking Dongpae mercenary, Balter, had approached unnoticed and was glaring at the two of them.
“B-But this guy….”
Debian tried to say something with a frustrated expression, but Balter looked like he had no intention of giving him a chance to even wag his tongue.
“Buts my ass. You pups who haven’t even dried the ink on your wooden-tag mercenary badges are brawling in the middle of a commission? Should I have you shut down the moment you start working as mercenaries?”
At the fierce bearing of an enraged bear growling, Debian shrank back completely. He seemed so startled that he didn’t even think to let go of Allen’s collar.
Leaving him be, Balter turned his eyes to Allen.
“And you, let go of the knife, punk.”
“…Knife?”
It was Debian who reacted more violently to his words. He reflexively lowered his gaze, only then realizing that Allen had been gripping the handle of a dagger this whole time.
“You crazy bastard!”
Debian cried out in alarm, releasing Allen’s collar as if pushing him away and backing off. Allen shrugged as if it were nothing.
“I was just planning to threaten him. I have to protect myself first, and as you can see, I’m not exactly cut out for a fistfight bare-handed, am I?”
Watching Allen emphasize his own frail physique without a hint of shame, Balter made an annoyed expression.
“Sure, brag about it, punk. Stop messing around and get ready to move out already! Damn, traveling with two snot-nosed brats really brings all sorts of crap.”
There had been a small commotion, but the party set off again without a care.
It wasn’t uncommon for hot-blooded mercenaries to brawl. The fact that the two quarreling were fresh Mokpae mercenaries was somewhat unusual, but it was something the others could overlook by assuming they were quite gutsy.
From the start, no one besides Balter, the leader of this commission, had any interest in the matter.
Mark, the hunter guiding them, maintained an attitude of non-interference in the mercenaries’ affairs, and Gerolt, the Cheolpae mercenary, was a man of so few words and expressions that no one could tell what he was thinking.
Of course, Allen, one of the parties involved in the fight, was in a slightly different position.
“…You damned little brat. I’ll get you back for this later.”
A low curse dug into his ears. The sharp glares stung like they could pierce his skin. Needless to say, the owner of that hostile voice and gaze was Debian.
*‘Sigh. He’s still going on about something so trivial. Maybe he’s got an inferiority complex about his ugly face.’*
Allen thought to himself but didn’t bother voicing it. In truth, he should have responded this way from the beginning. He regretted picking a fight over something so pointless.
What could be more stupid than recklessly creating an enemy when he had no intention of seeing it through to the end?
While there were times when one should never back down, there were also times when one should let things go; the problem was that this damned mouth of his didn’t listen sometimes.
*‘Then again, I got beaten every single day and still couldn’t fix it…’*
During his back-alley life, he’d been beaten up dozens of times for talking back defiantly. Yet seeing how he still was now, it could only be called an innate disposition.
*‘Well, it’s not like he’s a Dongpae or Cheolpae—he’s just a pushover Mokpae.’*
Allen decided to think of it comfortably. It was an inner thought that would make Debian burst with rage if he heard it, but as long as he didn’t show it on the outside, it was fine.
Sure enough. No matter what Debian muttered beside him, Allen consistently ignored him, and Debian eventually tired himself out and fell silent. Despite always acting confident, Debian was also a lowest-ranking Mokpae mercenary, and this was even his first commission.
In a situation where goblins could pop out anywhere at any time, it must have been difficult to keep picking a fight with someone who didn’t react at all.
Once Debian quieted down, Allen fixed his gaze on Mark, the middle-aged hunter walking ahead. There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in his steps as he led the party. It was possible because he had a clear destination.
*‘A cave tomb, was it…’*
According to what he’d heard before departure, the location was so favorable that any goblin horde of a certain size would almost certainly make it their den. Hundreds of goblins had set up there and been exterminated so far, which was why those in the know called it the “Goblins’ Cave Tomb.”
Allen prayed that the goblins had settled there again this time. Depending on whether they found and cleared out a goblin den, the reward would differ by more than double.
*‘Surely we won’t come up empty. That would be troublesome…’*
Muttering inwardly as he walked, Allen saw Mark, who was walking ahead, suddenly stop, bend down on one knee, and examine something carefully. The mercenaries, including Allen, approached him.
“What’s going—”
Balter, who had been asking Mark, closed his mouth. He had eyes too; he must have been seeing the same thing as Allen.
Traces of a fire, bones of beasts stripped of their flesh, and a considerable number of footprints.
“Goblins.”
Balter said. Removing his thick gloves, he placed his palm over the spot where the fire had been.
“Seeing as it’s completely cold, it seems quite some time has passed. What about the footprints? Can you tell how many there are?”
At Balter’s question, Mark shook his head with a grave expression.
“Hmm? Are you saying you don’t know?”
“No, I’m saying their numbers aren’t what’s important.”
“If not their numbers, then what?”
Balter asked again, but the answer came from elsewhere.
“Hobgoblins.”
It was Gerolt, the Cheolpae mercenary in his mid-twenties who had been silent the whole time. He was kneeling on one knee with his hand on the ground.
“The footprint length is well over a span.”
It was absolutely not the size of a normal goblin’s foot. Rising to his feet, Gerolt slowly shifted his position, examined the other footprints one by one, and then spoke again.
“There are slight differences in size even among the large footprints. This means….”
“It means there’s more than one hobgoblin. Damn it.”
Balter spat out.
“Correct. From what I see, three, maybe four.”
Having spoken his thoughts, Gerolt turned to look at Mark the hunter.
“…I observed roughly the same.”
Mark lent weight to Gerolt’s deduction with a heavily sunken face.
*‘Hobgoblins, huh…’*
Allen had picked up bits and pieces here and there. There were many reasons people loathed goblins, but the greatest among them was their habit of kidnapping young human women to use as breeding stock.
Hobgoblins referred to the half-human, half-demon offspring born from slitting the bellies of those kidnapped human women, and they were known to be overwhelmingly larger and stronger than ordinary goblins.
“Damn, did they come from outside the region…?”
Balter muttered as if he had a headache, then turned to Gerolt and asked.
“What do you think? This seems like it’ll get more dangerous than expected. It might be better to call it quits right here. You said at least three hobgoblins. Who knows how many more are behind them?”
“I’ll continue.”
Gerolt answered with an expressionless face. He didn’t bother giving lengthy reasons. His will to keep hunting goblins, regardless of what Balter and the others did, was evident.
“Ha….”
Balter let out a hollow laugh. Then Debian, who had been listening from the side, butted in abruptly.
“Excuse me, hold on. Are you saying we should run away now? Because we’re scared of a few goblins? Come on, hobgoblin or whatever, it’s still just a goblin, isn’t it?”
“I wasn’t asking you, brat.”
When Balter growled at him, Debian flinched, trembled, and slowly backed away.
“No, I’m just saying what I think. You won’t even let me speak….”
Ignoring the grumbling Debian, Balter turned his gaze to Mark, who had been silent.
“What do you think? It’s dangerous for us, but it could get dangerous for you too, Mr. Mark.”
“…Tell me for certain. Whether it’s worth fighting even if it’s a bit dangerous, or if it’s recklessly foolish.”
At Mark’s request, Balter looked over the members of the party undertaking the commission one by one.
“Hmm. One fairly skilled Cheolpae, one enthusiastic and strong brat, and….”
His gaze passed over Gerolt and Debian and landed on Allen.
Wondering what he would say, Allen’s curiosity must have shown on his face. Balter smirked and added:
“One small, weak brat.”
“Ugh….”
Allen scrunched up his face at the stinging remark. He heard Debian scoffing beside him. Damn it. And we’re both brats.
Balter continued, resting a heavy two-handed axe on his shoulder.
“Well, truthfully, it’s worth a shot. Even if they are hobgoblins, they don’t wear iron helms or armor. One good axe swing will still send them flying. However….”
Balter looked at Mark again with serious eyes.
“If we continue the commission, you’ll need to step up a bit more actively, Mr. Mark. It’s important that we spot them first and don’t get ambushed. It would be even better if you could reduce their numbers by one or two with that bow of yours.”
“Is that so….”
Frowning for a moment in thought, Mark soon raised his head with a determined face.
“Let’s continue. I’ll lend my strength as well.”
The party, having decided to continue the goblin extermination, set off again. Mark was still in the lead. Unlike before, when he had walked boldly and without hesitation, Mark’s gait was now full of caution.
“Please be careful not to make as much noise as possible. Don’t forget to watch the flanks and rear.”
This was what Mark had instructed the mercenaries. The party moved their steps carefully, mindful even of their breathing.
Balter, who wore a chain vest that made noise, followed at a moderate distance from the party. This was possible because even if he were ambushed by goblins alone, he could endure it well enough with his sturdy helm and armor.
Meanwhile, Allen watched Mark walking ahead with an impressed eye. As expected of an experienced hunter. Even though they were walking with equally muffled steps, it felt completely different.
Due to the nature of the forest terrain, it was impossible to walk without making any sound at all. Dry twigs and leaves were scattered everywhere, and there were times when they inevitably had to push through bushes.
Even without paying particular attention, Allen could distinguish each sound Gerolt and Debian made. Regardless of the volume, there was an inexplicable sense of alienation to them.
But for Mark alone, this wasn’t the case. It was as if he had buried his own sounds within the sounds of nature.
*‘…Amazing.’*
Deeply impressed, Allen observed Mark closely and tried to mimic his breathing and movements.
His breathing was so slow and steady that inhalation and exhalation were indistinguishable, and his movements were soft, as if absorbing the impact of his soles touching the ground throughout his entire body.
But more than anything, what mattered was lending an ear to the sounds of nature and throwing oneself into them.
He couldn’t be certain that Mark the hunter truly moved with such skill and mindset.
But Allen felt it to be so, and he strove to actualize it.
Even at this moment, the forest was making all kinds of sounds.
The chirping of birds, the buzzing of insects, the wind blowing gently, the branches thick with leaves rubbing against one another.
Accepting all those sounds with his whole heart, Allen felt his mind settling as quietly as an autumn lake on a windless day.
Of course, even while doing so, he never forgot to remain vigilant of his surroundings.
The forest the party was walking through was a mixed forest of tall, straight-trunked trees and low, wide-spreading shrubs densely intertwined. It was terrain where goblins could easily approach while hiding their bodies, so they always needed to be careful.
How much time had passed like that?
As appropriate tension for vigilance and a calmly settled mind came together, Allen felt a sensation like lightning striking down in an instant. Somehow, his previously scattered balance temporarily aligned, his mind grew sharp, and the realm of his senses expanded.
He saw what he couldn’t see, heard what he couldn’t hear, and smelled what he couldn’t smell.
Amidst that baptism of countless sensations, Allen captured a particularly alien sound.
Kirruk, keruk, kerurur. A timbre like scratching vocal cords, with clear intonation and stress. It was the sound of those creatures communicating in their own language, different from humans.
*‘Goblins!’*
The tranquility of his mind shattered in an instant, and his senses, which had expanded in all directions, returned to their original state. For a moment, he wondered if everything he had felt had been a dream, but Allen quickly shook his head.
It wasn’t a dream; it was undeniable reality. He was certain.
“Wait a moment.”
Soon, Allen’s voice halted the party.
< Chapter 1. The Frail Mokpae Mercenary (2) > End