Chapter 3

When you think of a knight, armor is an absolute must.

That dull metallic luster and the fluttering mantle are the ceremonial trappings that tickle a boy’s heart and make him yearn for the role. Strong steel deflects enemy attacks, and its sheer mass adds a sense of overwhelming power to every swing of the blade.

Besides, armor is expensive—it’s not the kind of thing an ordinary person can just get their hands on. Judging by appearances alone, the common folk might even see this armor as more of a proof of knighthood than the very sword bestowed by the King.

Naturally, being an idiot, I’d adored armor since I was a kid, spending sleepless nights fantasizing about what kind of suit I’d wear in the future. I even carried around uselessly heavy weights to train for the day I’d wear it, and I used to visit the blacksmiths in the Royal Capital just to drool in envy at the real deal.

Then I became a knight and finally got my hands on some armor… but the moment I joined the order, my secret dream was smashed into tiny, pathetic pieces.

So, what was the reason that mercilessly crushed a young boy’s dream?

It turns out the Royal Foreign Hazardous Species Countermeasures Knights is the only order in the entire kingdom that doesn’t actually wear armor.

I discovered this shocking fact shortly after joining.

I found out because I pointed out to the detestable Senior Rock that his knightly armor was sitting in the corner of the room, neglected and lonely under a thick layer of dust.

“Armor? Don’t be stupid. You can’t get anything done lugging around a metal heap that reeks of ‘human’ like that.”

“Wait, what?”

To summarize Senior Rock’s explanation:

First off, the job of the Royal Foreign Hazardous Species Countermeasures Knights is primarily to hunt down and crush invasive monsters that have crossed the border and settled in the country, ensuring the peace and safety of the citizens.

To that end, if there are Orcs in the west, we fly to the west; if there are Orcs in the east, we fly to the east. We basically have no time to rest and recover, so we don’t wear armor—which is just a major cause of fatigue.

Furthermore, monsters generally have excellent hearing and smell. Apparently, armor—which is loud and reeks of iron and sweat—is the worst possible equipment for a hunt. Therefore, for this order, armor is strictly for ceremonial use.

My senior eventually gave up on the detailed explanation because it was too much work, but there were various other reasons: “it adds too much luggage,” “it takes too long to put on and maintain,” “wearing armor while hunting Orcs—where mobility is life—is a joke,” and “if it breaks, you pay for the repairs yourself.” Apparently, by fifty years ago, no one was wearing it anymore.

By the way, back when the order actually used armor, our nickname wasn’t the “Pig-Hunt Knights,” but the “Mountain Ape Knights.”

Back then, they lacked both the budget and the proper equipment, and they were so busy they literally didn’t have time to bathe. They supposedly smelled terrible.

Nowadays, thanks to the deployment of “Motive Carriages” (vehicles equipped with magical engines) we can move several times faster than a horse-drawn carriage, giving us just enough time to keep ourselves presentable. I’m truly grateful for that.

Though, that gratitude vanishes like a scrap of paper in the wind the moment I look at my current, mud-caked body.

The person who greeted us upon our return to the temporary camp wasn’t a comrade with words of appreciation, but a loathsome man with words dripping in oily sarcasm and malice.

“Ugh, you reek of mud! My, my, the Scout Unit certainly has it rough as always! To think you have to smear mud all over yourselves just so the Orcs don’t notice you! Don’t you smell worse than the Orcs? It’s like a wild boar taking a mud bath! How hideous! Oh, I pity you, I really do! Allow me, Yagara-san—a Royal Chronicler on the fast track to success who will never have to participate in such violence—to offer you my sympathies!!”

“Varna-kun, could you grab some horse manure from the purification plant? I’m going to stuff it up this guy’s nose.”

“Better not. Even if he’s an eyesore worse than an Orc, he’s technically a Royal official. If we lay a hand on him, the best-case scenario is we get fired.”

“As expected of ‘Beheader’ Varna-kun! You certainly understand your place! Yes, exactly! For a commoner, spending your days watching the expressions of your superiors is the correct way to live—oh? Come to think of it, that’s not really something worth praising, is it? After all, it’s only natural!!”

Chronicler Yagara—whose personality was just as nasty as his sarcastic face suggested—was characterized by a pointed goatee that was somehow infuriating to look at. Unfortunately, he was also a high-ranking official born into the Kingdom’s nobility with a title of his own.

Chroniclers are individuals who periodically accompany missions to monitor the order’s fund management and professional conduct.

He’d gone out of his way to meet us solely to harass us—out of both commoner discrimination and the rivalry between knightly orders.

And if any member couldn’t take the attitude and tried to punch him, he would gleefully write “Lacks knightly aptitude due to failure of conduct” in his report and submit it to the Kingdom with a smirk.

Of course, that wasn’t his only hobby. He was also a member of the faction belonging to the Commander of the “Holy Boot Knights,” an order that had a terrible relationship with ours. In short, he was an assassin sent to bring as much shame as possible to an order filled with lowly, commoner-born knights.

His notoriety extended beyond our order; because of his sheer unpleasantness, he was nicknamed the “Demotion Executioner.”

He was a professional harasser who only had a respectable position thanks to the aristocratic class. A real piece of work.

Moreover, he was useless for anything other than his job as a chronicler.

He is a harassment-generating machine on par with an Orc.

I wonder what the Kingdom is thinking, letting someone like this rise through the ranks. If the faces on the Royal Council making those promotion decisions are just like him, the future of this country might be in trouble.

However, we “Pig-Hunt Knights” do not bow to that level of authority… well, depending on the degree.

“Senior, if you’re going to kill him, it’d be better to kidnap him, take him apart, and secretly mix the pieces in with the Orc carcasses at the purification plant…”

“Wait, what?! I thought you were the sensible one, but you’re not just a commoner, you’re a criminal-in-waiting!?”

“It’s not a crime if you don’t get caught!♪”

“Don’t you start getting carried away too! And stop casually resting your mud-covered hand on my noble shoulder and rubbing it in! I’ll fire you! I’ll really have you fired!!”

“You can’t fire someone just for putting a hand on your shoulder, Mr. Chronicler. Besides, getting our clothes dirty is part of the job.”

“That’s right, Mr. Chronicler! You’re way too stiff! Here, let me prescribe you a special homemade medicine to soften up that brain of yours!!”

As he spoke, Senior Rock pulled something from his coat—a ghastly bottle of local moonshine filled with so many oversized centipedes it made me want to scream. Looking at the sight, I preferred to believe it wasn’t alcohol at all, but a ritual potion for summoning a demon.

The impact of the bottle’s contents, both inside and out, caused Yagara’s face to go pale as he let out a high-pitched shriek.

“HYAAAAAA?! Wha-wha-wha-what is that toxic liquid that looks like concentrated filth?!”

“It’s medicine! The king of a hundred medicines! One good swig of this and it’ll really hit the spot!~♪”

“How lucky for you, Chronicler. Senior is usually broke from buying too much booze, so it’s rare for him to treat someone to a drink. Look, this is what you call a heartwarming interaction with the knighthood. Come on, take a big gulp.”

“HIGYAAAAAAAA!! No!! No, no, no! Even if the heavens and earth were flipped, there’s no way I’m drinking demon venom dissolved with the juices of such disgusting creatures!!!”

Caught between Senior on his right and me on his left, Yagara struggled desperately to escape, but as he was being held by two active-duty knights—even if one was a forty-year-old alcoholic—there was no way he was getting loose.

“Hehehe…” Senior made a textbook villainous face as he uncapped the bottle, slowly bringing the liquid—which was already leaking a pungent, stinging odor—closer to Yagara-san’s face. Watching Yagara-san’s features twist into a mask of terror and revulsion was honestly hilarious.

“Stop… l-look, if you stop now, I can still treat this as a joke…! Ah, hieek, stop—t-that’s it!! Instead of that swill, I have a sixty-year-old red wine I sourced! Yes, let’s spend the night drinking that instead…”

“Oh, for real? Then I’ll be sure to receive that later too! Down it! Down it!♪”

“Wh-Whyyyyy?!”

Yagara had clearly hoped to use the conversation to steer Senior Rock away from the centipede juice, but unfortunately, Senior possessed a talent beyond the norm only when it came to harassment and schemes to get free booze. Hearing Yagara’s offer, Senior’s thought process was likely: “I’ll knock this guy out, then go help myself to that red wine!” To put it mildly, it was the mindset of a mugger.

Pity. This man had done nothing but “send salt to the enemy”.

“Agh, you demons… are you both demons?! S-Stop him, Knight Varna! I’ll even pull some strings and have you transferred to another order, how about that?!”

“Ah, sorry, but I’ve already got connections like that. I plan to stay here until I get bored.”

“And on that note… Let’s drink up!!~”

“Gegubobababaaaaaaaagh?!?!?!”

Forced to swallow the amber-colored chaos containing the centipedes, Yagara—unable even to writhe because he was pinned down—let out an inarticulate scream and… expired.

A few minutes later—after Yagara had broken out in hives and started foaming at the mouth with his eyes rolled back—we loaded him onto a nearby stretcher meant for hauling Orc corpses and headed toward the medical tent, where we knew someone would finally speak to us kindly.

However, our goal wasn’t treatment; it was simply to drop off this disgusting noble geezer.

“But Senior, even if Chronicler Yagara collapses the moment he drinks anything other than wine and forgets everything from the day before, is it really okay to keep doing this? This is the fourth time now.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. It’s quieter when he’s not around, and while he’s unconscious, we can forge the chronicler’s report.♪ The Commander is planning to use this mission’s report to solidify your promotion track, you know?”

“…That old fox. I bet he knew Yagara-san was coming for the inspection and knew about his weakness to alcohol.”

“Of course he knew! After all, I’m the one who knows the most about the order’s alcohol situation, and I’m the one who leaked the weakness to him!”

“You’re in on it too?!”

As Senior Rock blew alcohol-stink breath at me and gave an un-cute wink, I let out a massive sigh.

Part of my promotion was being engineered by this alcoholic senior, but I was more worried about what kind of role I’d be forced to play in Commander Luger’s troublesome plans.

Dear Mother and Father. There are no decent adults in my knightly order.

Even so, I wonder what it says about my life that this still feels ten times better than my days at the military academy.

Also, apparently, I’m getting promoted, though for some reason I can’t bring myself to be happy about it. Sincerely yours.