18

I rinsed my mouth.

Once, twice, I spat out the water, but the unpleasant feeling still wouldn’t go away.

No — the sensation that something was still in my mouth just wouldn’t leave.

I knew, as a matter of knowledge, that in low-civilization countries, people rarely bathed, and even a simple wash was almost unheard of — a catastrophic level of hygiene.

But who would’ve thought that even after 200 years, it would still be the same?

(Ugh… feels like there are bugs in there. Should’ve picked somewhere else to bite!)

I’d meant to fake choking for effect, but that old man actually made me choke for real… Next time I saw him, I was definitely punching him.

In the end, I went through two whole bottles before I finally felt settled.

Given the remaining water, I considered replenishing it, but going back to the river every time would get me nowhere.

So, as planned, I decided to sneak into the Kingdom of Canaan’s territory for a bit and have a look at one of its towns.

By seeing a Canaanese town, I should be able to guess how much the technological level had changed in the 200 years I’d been asleep.

So I passed through the ruins of Rukudil and headed north.

The trees had clearly been cut for human passage, forming something like a road.

Most likely, that mercenary company had come through here.

From the look of it, the road itself had been here for years, so I should assume that Canaan — which had flown an airship south before — had surveyed this whole area as part of its territorial expansion.

If that’s the case, I’d better act under the assumption that this area is already within the Kingdom of Canaan’s sphere of influence.

(Even if it’s just a road cut through the forest, if there’s a chance others pass by, it’s better to move off the path.)

Getting spotted and causing a commotion would be a pain, so I left the road and slipped quietly through the woods.

So far, nothing in sight looked artificial, and there were no human figures or signs.

Just to be sure, I stayed mindful of noise and scent — though walking while doing so took a surprising amount of focus.

Before I knew it, I’d been running without paying much attention to my surroundings.

Well, I mean, it was exhausting.

Besides, with that goblin-packed base so close by, no one would come here unless they were truly strange.

After running for a while, I spotted something man-made to my right.

Looking closely, I realized it was a wall — but that raised a question.

(Was there ever a town here?)

It’s most natural to assume it was built while I was asleep, but they’d put it awfully close to the border.

Or maybe I should say they built it here because there was no border anymore?

I marked the town on my mental map and began observing.

Heading north would bring me out of the forest, meaning this area was fully in Canaanese territory.

There were gates to the north and south; the northern road split northwest and northeast.

Northwest probably led to a town I remembered, while northeast likely led to a fortress that once guarded the border.

I shifted position several times to change my viewing angle, and eventually saw a few men and women leave the south gate, heading south.

(They look like scouts? Forest surveyors, or checking on goblin extermination?)

Once I’d watched them go, I looked around for high ground, but the only spot was far to the north.

It was early afternoon, so crossing a visible road wasn’t ideal.

I could use my camouflage ability to reach the next place to hide, but that concealment wasn’t perfect.

In that case, I might as well head for the town of Glenda to the northwest.

If memory served, it was in a location where you could overlook the whole area from the mountains — not a bad choice if I wanted to learn how life in the Canaan Kingdom was now.

Resting my chin in my hand, I kept watching the town.

The new town wasn’t small, but it wasn’t large either.

If I assumed the once-bustling town had developed over 200 years, it might yield far more useful information.

“No reason to stick with this one,” I decided, and turned northwest.

Unlike the north, this less-developed area still had plenty of forest, so moving would be easy.

As I traveled through the woods a bit away from the road, the scent of blood drifted from ahead.

I used my camouflage ability and crept forward with as little noise as possible — and found about six bodies sprawled across the road.

They all seemed to have been armed, but their weapons were gone, likely taken.

Wagon tracks led into the forest, giving me the gist of what happened.

(Bandits attacked a wagon, which then either fled or was lured into the forest — or was captured.)

With the men who were probably guards lying dead, I had to assume they’d been caught.

If I kept going, I’d either run into them or see them.

Bandits attacked for cargo.

(And that cargo could include food… maybe even something useful for me. If I think about where it was headed, the southern frontier would need supplies… maybe even magic potions.)

A little thought told me stealing the cargo wasn’t a bad idea.

Witnesses?

I could just get rid of them.

They’re bandits — no one would miss them, and as a soldier, I could kill them without guilt.

Civilians, though… even as a rookie — no, because I was a rookie — I’d hesitate to harm them.

So I set down my things and — “Hyah-ha! Bandit hunt!” — dropped my camouflage and followed the scent straight to the wagon.

Even in the poor visibility of the forest, focusing on scent and hearing made it easy to find them.

Just as I thought — bandits.

(…Eleven total? No, there are a few inside the wagon.)

The tarp blocked my view, but I guessed four or five inside.

No matter — I closed in on the wagon, and the bandits finally noticed me.

They panicked wonderfully, each grabbing a weapon.

Three bolted immediately, one shouting something.

That’s a very bandit-like move, so I let them go out of respect for their clean getaway.

The remaining eight took up arms — which was disappointing.

From the look of their plain iron weapons, they had no chance of hurting me.

But when one shouted toward the wagon, a well-dressed, overweight man emerged holding a massive crossbow — an arbalest.

With greater power and range than a normal crossbow, it was a weapon far too fine for bandits.

Some used metal strings, and 200 years ago only certain countries used them in war — I’d even been warned about them during training.

Now, though, it was “so what?” and I kept advancing.

The first man screamed and swung at me — I backhanded him into a tree, leaving a stain.

A second raised a hand axe — I hit him harder, his neck turning about 270 degrees before he collapsed.

I decided to save the one giving orders for last, and threw a rock at another who’d dropped his weapon and fled.

It left a hole in his chest — dead.

The nearest spear-wielder dropped his weapon and ran; I leapt and stomped him.

I felt his spine break, and he coughed up blood — dead as well.

Closing the distance in a rush, I smacked another with my tail into a tree, then finished him with a punch.

That left three.

The fat man with the arbalest still wasn’t ready.

A big-sword wielder stepped up, saying something — I met his step with a punch that shattered both weapon and body.

Just as I stained another tree, an arrow flew — I caught it in my hand.

And released it.

With one left, the man who’d been giving orders said something fast — too fast for me to catch.

Not that it mattered — I figured it wasn’t important, grabbed his head, twisted it a full 360 degrees, and tossed it away. Wipeout complete.

(Now then… let’s see about that cargo.)

Reeking of blood, I walked to the back of the wagon and looked inside.

But what I’d hoped for wasn’t there — instead, five women stared at me in fear.

I looked them over for a while.

They ranged from their late teens to late twenties, dressed in flashy, sheer clothing that let their skin faintly show through.

The eldest, in a see-through red dress, stood in front of the others with arms spread protectively.

(…Five, three, four, one, three.)

With such clear body lines, my measurements had to be accurate.

I’d expected cargo, but instead I’d found a wagon of prostitutes.

Now what to do with them?