Chapter 33

It was natural they didn’t want to talk to me any further. My attitude—and the way I answered without once looking back—made it obvious.

Soon, I heard whispers behind me. They thought they were being quiet, but I caught the words anyway. One grumbled about the bad luck of dealing with me, while another said there were always mercenaries like that, so it was better to accept it.

I ignored them and looked back up at the dark clouds. It seemed certain that when the rain poured later, some kind of commotion would follow.

“Whoa, whoa~”

The driver’s voice drifted back as the wagon rocked and slowed to a stop. I stayed in the same posture I had since departure. A few of the merchants sharing the wagon seemed to be asleep, their breathing steady.

The sun still hung half over the horizon, but the storm clouds overhead had already thrown everything into shadow.

“Tonight we’ll camp here and set off again at dawn. Get ready.”

Medsav’s voice carried from the front. According to the escort contract, everything besides fighting monsters was his responsibility. Preparation and setup would be handled by the merchants; the mercenaries only needed to guard against attacks.

I climbed down from the wagon and looked around without anything particular to do.

At the front, Medsav was barking orders, his bulky frame lumbering as he pointed this way and that. Even while his right hand gestured constantly, the left twitched at his side, never still. It had to be a long-ingrained habit. I didn’t know how he picked it up, but it was certainly unpleasant to watch.

“Over there, set that one up on that side, please.”

At his command, the merchants moved quickly. Bit by bit, a line of tents rose, sturdy enough to keep out the rain. Judging by their practiced motions, most of them had done this many times before. Out of the twenty-five merchants, only a handful looked awkward, while the two who had stayed inside the carriage still hadn’t appeared.

“Hahaha! Looks like it’s going to pour!”

Horse-face’s laugh boomed from atop the carriage, loud enough to carry in every direction. A few merchants scowled up at him. Contract or not, someone sitting above them shouting like that wasn’t going to earn much goodwill.

I turned my eyes to the front again.

Sharn, with his sharp features, stood beside the first wagon, polishing his blade without moving from his spot. Whether it was care or simply habit, it made no difference.

Whooo.

A sharp gust swept through, carrying the savory smell of cooking. I turned to see a group busy preparing food, while the tent work seemed nearly finished. The merchants’ movements had grown more relaxed.

“Make it tighter! Don’t let the wind blow it off!”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you! Stop nagging already!”

As their voices rose, so did the wind, and the temperature dipped further. The sun, once half-hidden, slipped completely below the horizon, and the sky filled with storm clouds instead of a moon.

A heavy downpour was on the way.

“Dinner’s ready!”

At the call, everyone dropped what they were doing and gathered around the large pot simmering over the fire.

Watching them, I thought they looked less like merchants and more like hired workers. It was odd, really. Not only were they the ones handling such chores, but they did so with the ease of seasoned hands.

The more I saw, the less they felt like merchants at all. Yet when we had departed earlier, everything about their behavior and manner of speech had fit the role perfectly—so perfectly that it felt like someone had put the textbook image of a merchant in front of me.

Was that thought too ridiculous?

“Hey, Kain, wasn’t it? Come eat with us.”

Horse-face called out from not far from where the merchants had gathered. His voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and I started toward him. On the way, I caught sight of Medsav carrying bowls in both hands, heading toward the carriage.

Who in the world was inside that wagon, that he’d personally deliver food? Whoever they were, they didn’t seem like merchants.

Still, it wasn’t my concern. I let it go and kept moving.

Sharn was already seated by the first wagon, eating spoonfuls of soup. There were two cooking pots in use tonight, one larger than the other. The pot on our side—the mercenaries’ side—was about half the size of a wooden barrel stool.

The merchants’ pot, on the other hand, was twice that size. Practically the size of a full barrel. Their pot brimmed with soup, and sacks of bread were piled beside it, full to bursting.

Our side? Our sack was barely half full. Odd. Not that merchants usually ate more, but since food preparation was their duty, maybe it wasn’t strange after all.

“What are you waiting for? Eat already.”

I’d noticed since this first job began that horse-face had changed. I didn’t know why, but something in his way of speaking made him seem like a different man.

I gave Sunwar a slight nod, lifted a bowl already filled with soup, and tasted it.

The flavor was decent—nothing special, just edible. This was my third bowl of soup since returning to the Human Realm.

The first had been at the inn called Eat, Sleep, and Drink. That was also the place where I’d gotten into my so-called first fight here, though really it had been nothing more than a one-sided beating.

The second had been at the Sage’s house, cooked by the Sage himself. Compared to that, tonight’s soup wasn’t even in the same league.

Not that the Sage’s soup had been rich or flavorful in the usual sense. It had been something else, a taste impossible to put into words. I doubted I would ever eat anything that good again.

The bread was hard, but dipping it into the steaming soup softened it enough to be tolerable.

“Is this your first request?”

The gaunt Sharn, who reminded me of a skeleton, spoke up. Until now he’d sat in silence, so the question caught me off guard.

Why ask that? Did I look like a beginner? Or was it just because I looked young?

I didn’t answer aloud. I just gave a slight nod and spooned up another mouthful.

Steam rose from the bowl, drifting whichever way the wind carried it. Its aimless swaying reminded me of the truth I had already learned.

“I see. And how old are you this year?”

There was something off about Sharn’s speech. It wasn’t the rough, casual tone mercenaries usually picked up. His words were precise, measured, almost refined. Anyone who’d been a mercenary long enough inevitably spoke with the rough edge of the trade. Exceptions existed, of course, but even then there were subtle tells.

From him, I felt none of that.

Which left me with two possibilities: either he was skilled enough to control even the way he spoke, or this was his first request as well.

“Twenty.”

I had been about to answer Sharn’s question myself, spoon halfway to my lips, when horse-face cut in before I could.

How the hell did he know my age? He hadn’t guessed—it was too exact. He must have asked one of the clerks at the mercenary guild’s counter. No doubt they’d found it suspicious that someone so young could be listed as A-rank.

I moved the spoon the rest of the way, not letting my thoughts show.

Rumble!

The moment the spoon touched my lips, thunder split the sky overhead. The booming crash felt like it could tear the world apart. From the merchants’ side, a ripple of startled noise reached my ears.

Clink.

“Ugh!”

“Damn it, you spilled it on my clothes!”

“Whoa, that scared me!”

I only heard spoons clattering to the ground, never the heavy crash of bowls. That was strange. I trusted my ears, though. I hadn’t misheard.

“Tch, damn it!”

The irritated voice came from in front of me. I lifted my head and saw horse-face scowling. He must have flinched at the thunder, because the evidence was clear: soup had spilled down the front of his brown leather jerkin, dripping from the chest. Judging by the small amount, he’d only dropped what was on his spoon.

Sharn, in contrast, calmly kept eating as if nothing had happened. His mana reserves were A-rank, but his swordsmanship was sharper still—easily at the level of a Sword Expert or higher.

The most important thing in battle was composure. Lose that, and you couldn’t fight at your best.

The difference between them had just been laid bare by a single clap of thunder. Horse-face and the skeleton-like Sharn were in entirely different leagues.

Mana aside, the gap in fundamental skill was obvious.