From Mercenary to King

Chapter 1: Back to That First Battle (1)

My father always said this.

“You are a descendant of a great hero.”

Back when the world is still full of mysteries. A descendant of a great hero loved by countless gods and respected by many other races like humans, elves, and dwarves.

“In your veins flows our forebear’s blood and mighty mystery. Don’t forget. You… you too can become a great hero like your ancestor, my son.”

A shabby house like a rickety shed.

Wretchedly, the man, my father, who called himself a descendant of a great hero met his end in the stale bedroom of that place, yet I didn’t doubt his words.

I believed, and believed again.

One day I would break free of this life, stand tall as a great hero, and rebuild the family.

-Fwoooosh.

-Crack. Crackle crack.

As I left, burning my dead father and our old home, I swore it.

For decades, as a mercenary thirsting for success, that iron vow never once wavered.

But today…

“Ugh… damn it.”

It feels like that vow will break.

Looks like that unshakable faith ends here.

Father, I’m sorry…

* * *

-Waaaaaaa!

The sun sets.

The red afterglow that begins beyond the western hills starts to cover the whole world. The wide plain is already stained crimson.

-Kill them all.

-Don’t let a single one live-!

No, maybe it already turned red with all the blood that pooled and flowed.

‘Damn.’

Shatien gripped his abdomen and muttered.

Every breath brought up the metallic stench of blood.

His organs had to be damaged.

Strength kept draining from the hand that gripped his sword.

‘This is how it ends?’

He looked around, but all he saw were the corpses of his own men.

There wasn’t a single ally left who could help him.

The mercenary corps Shatien had painstakingly raised had been annihilated.

“Damn it, khak. Cough, cough!”

He spat curses in despair, but only clots of blood came out.

“Urghhh.”

Swaying, Shatien used the longsword planted in the ground to push himself up.

Twenty years lived as a mercenary.

He had watched countless deaths, but when his turn came, it wasn’t easy to accept it calmly.

He would resist somehow, no matter what.

But his ruined body didn’t obey its master.

-Thud.

His strengthless body flopped pathetically to the dirt.

Seeing this, an enemy soldier pointed with his spear from a distance and shouted.

“What’s this? The bastard’s still alive? Man, he’s tough! Tough as nails.”

“Hey, hey. Don’t touch him.”

“Why not? Judging by the getup, he looks like a captain. We could bag him and get a reward, right?”

“Can’t you tell from those glaring eyes? He’s a hard case. Go near him and you’ll get hurt. Just leave him to die.”

“True… with those wounds he’ll kick off soon enough.”

The enemies who had approached snickered and moved past Shatien.

The ground was littered with mercenary corpses.

They had no reason to take a needless risk.

Left to watch them ignore him and loot the bodies beside him, Shatien let out a hollow laugh.

‘What a hollow end.’

If he had died to a famed knight, there would have been some scrap of honor.

But his end was being ignored even by nameless grunts.

‘I… really thought I could do it.’

The vow from the day he had left home flashed through his mind.

He had sworn to rise with a single sword, win honor, and restore his house like the great ancestor.

Yet twenty-some years later,

Shatien’s end was death as a shabby mercenary captain who wouldn’t leave a single line of a name behind.

‘How miserable.’

He had no face to meet his forebears.

“Kh—hak.”

He vomited another handful of blood.

It looked like it was time.

Beyond his blurring vision, a dark shape appeared.

The reaper was coming to take his breath, surely.

“Urgh.”

He forced his body, wanting to look at the sky one last time.

Flop.

But his body at its limit didn’t grant even that luxury, and he just rolled on the ground in an ugly heap as all strength drained away.

“Oh? Would you look at that?”

“Heh. See, told you, didn’t I? He’ll die any second now.”

“Always acting high and mighty…”

As he tumbled through the muck, jeers from the enemy rang in his ears.

Shame and emptiness surged again like a wave.

Shatien thrashed to pull himself into a stance.

At that moment—

-Tap.

Something dropped from his breast onto the ground before his eyes.

An heirloom from his dead father.

A pendant imbued with mystical power, left by the great ancestor and handed down in their fallen house.

Of course, in all his life he had never seen anything even close to mystical come from it.

‘Heh. Hey, pendant. Isn’t it time you show me something? You’re the provision our forebear left behind, right?’

But as expected, nothing happened.

There was no third-rate tavern-ballad miracle.

He hadn’t expected one anyway.

‘To hell with mystical powers.’

If there had been such a power, it would have worked long ago. Why would the ancestor’s heirloom sit idle while his descendants’ house collapsed?

It was just all empty hope and empty resolve.

His body felt heavy.

It looked like it really was time to part with the world, much as it pained him.

‘F…Father.’

Making a name for himself.

Reviving a fallen house.

The duties he had never fulfilled swirled through his head. He didn’t have the courage to face his ancestor’s spirit after death.

‘I’m sorry… looks like this is as far as I go…’

With that lament, Shatien slowly let go of the thread tying him to a reality he still clung to.

-Vvrrrrm!

-Flash!

As his consciousness faded beyond the dark, he failed to see the pendant suddenly begin to shine.

* * *

“Waaaaaaaa!”

A raucous roar.

The back of his head throbbed like something had clubbed him, and a sharp ringing whined through his skull.

‘…?’

Shatien opened his eyes.

A churned, muddy ground filled his view.

His face was buried in the dirt.

Ptui—!

He spat the gritty mud from his mouth, rubbed his aching head, and pushed himself up.

A dented helmet rolled by his side.

A soldier clutching a crude club lay sprawled.

‘What is this…’

Rubbing his numb head, Shatien scanned around quickly.

Leaping flames and black smoke.

And the thick reek of blood.

Familiar, far too familiar.

He was right in the middle of a strange battlefield.

‘Where is this? Didn’t I die…?’

He couldn’t grasp it, and his mind reeled. He had taken a spear in the gut and closed his eyes, so why was he opening them on a strange battlefield?

And come to think of it…

This place felt excessively familiar.

As if he had lived it once.

But the situation didn’t let him think any longer.

“You bastard! Why are you standing there spacing out? Do you wanna die-!”

A bellow erupted beside him.

The voice was familiar too.

He cocked his head and looked over to see a burly man glaring like he meant to kill him.

The helmet hid the face, but Shatien knew him at a glance.

“…Miles?”

His direct superior from twenty years ago.

Senior mercenary Miles.

The man who had taken care of him when he had joined his first mercenary group.

A face he could never forget.

“What? Miles?”

Miles glared at Shatien in disbelief.

“Ha. Why are all the new ones like this these days? A rookie punk dares spit casual speech at a senior.”

He scowled like he couldn’t believe it, but even that sight was a relief to Shatien.

“You’re still alive! And you look so young. Did you get your youth back?”

“What?”

Miles was just flabbergasted.

“First battle and the bastard’s already lost his marbles? Seriously, why are they all like this lately…”

On any other day he would have dragged him off and pounded the corn out of him!

But this was a battlefield.

“H-Hey, the enemies are coming.”

The urgency of battle allowed no room for little thoughts like these.

“Damn it! Now of all time?”

-Waaaaa!

“Kill every last one of them!”

An enemy unit, spotting them at close range, charged with murderous momentum.

At the same time—

-Bwooooo.

With a harsh horn blast, more mercenaries appeared behind them.

“Mercenary corps, chaaaarge!”

The unit led by their own mercenary captain arrived.

Both sides immediately clashed, exuding thick killing intent.

-Clang clatter!

-Krunch!

“Die!”

“You die first, bastard!”

Life and death split in an instant on a frantic field.

But Shatien’s focus was elsewhere.

‘Captain… Mordo?’

The middle-aged man on a bay horse directing the mercenaries was someone he knew all too well.

No, how could he forget.

The captain of his first mercenary group, the man from those searing memories.

‘Why is Captain Mordo here?’

That captain had died long, long ago. Yet here he was, hale and barking orders.

And now he understood why everything around him felt familiar.

How could he not?

This was the exact situation of his first battle, twenty years ago as a green recruit in that army.

Time had passed, but it was a memory too vivid to forget.

“What are you doing, really! Huh? Do you wanna die?”

Meanwhile, Miles shouted and yanked an iron sword from Shatien’s scabbard at his side, thrusting it into his hands.

-Thunk.

“If you stand around like an idiot on a battlefield, you die. If you wanna live, raise your sword. Now!”

“Ah, huh…? Y-Yes, sir!”

Swept up by his sheer force, Shatien nodded as he took the sword.

Miles heaved a deep sigh.

“Ugh. Why’d a hollow-headed kid get put under me? Hey, rookie! Keep your eyes on my back and follow. If you strut out front, you die. Got it?”

“…”

“Hmm? Answer?”

Miles growled.

“Y-Yes, sir.”

“Good! Then let’s go! We’ve gotta cover Captain Mordo’s rear!”

Miles swung his axe in great arcs and charged.

Shatien hesitated a beat, then gripped his sword and sprinted after him.

“Uwaaaaah!”

“Die! Die!”

“Gahhh!”

Familiar comrades from his memories crashed together with screams and curses.

And unforgettable foes as well.

Soldiers of the Holy Empire’s emperor, wearing red sashes over their shoulders, rushed straight at them.

“Anyone who runs dies to me first!”

Miles bellowed and hacked his axe down.

-Split!

With the sound of wood being cleaved, the axe bit deep into an imperial soldier’s shield.

“Argh!”

The enemy’s shoulder split, and he screamed in pain.

A gloriously satisfying blow.

Shatien couldn’t help but admire it inside.

“You piece of—”

Maybe he felt the gaze, because Miles, drenched in blood, glanced back and glared murderously.

“Am I fighting alone here? Huh? I don’t know what the hell’s going on in that head of yours, but focus on the fight. Got it? Or do you wanna die by my hand right now?”

Focus on the fight…

He was right.

Whatever this situation was—

Whether it was a vision seen before death, or a punishment to fight in hell for having killed all his life—Shatien knew one thing for certain.

He had to fight for now.

He could think after it’s over.

With that, Shatien clenched his sword and cleared his head.

“No, sir. I’m coming right now.”

To his comrade’s side.

This time, he wouldn’t be the helpless man he had been in that first battle.