Rational Judgment. Rational Judgment.
Our party moved forward, leaving the first footprints on the snow that had fallen the day before, the sound of our boots crunching loudly beneath us.
I was positioned around the middle of the group. Thanks to Galad's consideration, I didn't have to walk at the very front or trail at the back.
Of the ten mercenaries gathered, six—Galad included—were people he had brought with him. A small band, just six members in total. They did introduce themselves with some sort of name, but it didn't seem important enough to remember, so I already forgot it.
"Priest Marnak."
A boy with eyes as clear as a cow's and an innocent-looking face, yet a body far too large to match. He looked like he was somewhere between a boy and a young man. He was the youngest member of their mercenary group, assigned to me by Galad in case I needed someone to run errands.
I answered with a kindly smile, "Yes?"
His name was... was it Phuer? He came from a village near Guis. Galad had recognized his natural strength, begged and bargained with his family, and finally brought him in after paying a generous sum.
And how do I know all this?
"Sir, you must've come from somewhere other than Guis. Could you tell me what the scenery's like there? If we keep going along this road, we'll pass by the village I used to live in. I wonder how my mother and father are doing. I mean, I'm sure they'll get through the winter fine thanks to the reward Captain Galad gave them, but... why do I still feel a little worried?"
Phuer talked a lot. The questions he asked were merely excuses to start a conversation—then he'd launch into long, unnecessary stories about himself.
Come to think of it, was the real reason they stuck Phuer with me not to be considerate, but to give themselves a break from his endless chatter? Had I been set up?
"Did you know, priest?"
Now he didn't even bother pretending to ask a question—he just dove into his own stories. He put on a deliberately solemn face and leaned in like he was telling me a secret, which looked oddly funny against his naive-looking features.
"What are you talking about?"
Phuer glanced at Galad, then whispered,
"There's a rumor that the ones taking the farmers around here aren't people or monsters—but ghosts."
In this world, the word ghost had a slightly different meaning from the monsters made of negative energy, but the image wasn't too different from what we'd call ghosts in our world.
"Ghosts, you say?"
"Yes. Ghosts."
I just smiled gently and said,
"If the culprit really is a ghost, that would be quite the problem."
Phuer's eyes sparkled as he looked at me.
"Why is that?"
Was he expecting some kind of mystical explanation? Unfortunately for him, that wasn't what I meant.
"Well, if it's a ghost, then we're pretty much guaranteed to come up empty-handed—and if that happens, we won't get our success bonus, right?"
That would be a problem. Without the success bonus, the payment was just a single silver coin. That's the same amount I'd gotten in advance after getting a scolding from the receptionist yesterday. In other words, my financial situation—currently sitting at ninety copper coins—wasn't about to improve anytime soon.
This is seriously a problem.
Phuer looked at me with a slightly disappointed expression, probably because he had been expecting some kind of grand or mystical explanation.
"I guess you're right. If the culprit really is a ghost, it would be hard to get paid."
"But do you think Mr. Galad also believes the culprit is a ghost?"
At my question, Phuer glanced around with that massive frame of his, then leaned in and whispered to me.
"To be honest, I don't think Captain Galad really expects to catch anyone. From what I overheard him saying last night with the others, it sounded like he only took the job because there wasn't anything else available. I mean, it's not even certain that there really is someone attacking travelers on this road in the first place."
So that means... my financial situation isn't going to improve. That made me a little gloomy. Phuer, oblivious to my inner despair, just kept talking.
It kind of felt like walking with a radio on.
"Captain Galad's always complaining that the reason we haven't had any work lately is because the great and noble Lord Tredon has been governing Guis too well—so there haven't been any problems to solve. Thanks to that, our mercenary group's spent more time working temp jobs through the labor office than doing actual guild work this month, can you believe that?"
The labor office was a lord-run institution that arranged jobs for workers in exchange for reasonable wages whenever manpower was needed. It was a lot like a modern-day temp agency. In the original game setting, this was basically a place for grinding low-level jobs if your class wasn't good at hunting in the early game.
Am I going to have to do temp work instead of mercenary jobs?
Mercenary work was much better for me. In the process of killing or being killed, there were always bodies—and collecting those gave me both mission progress and divine favor. Killing two birds with one stone.
"But someone with natural power like yours, Phuer—wouldn't you be exceptional at physical labor?"
My polite speech seemed to make Phuer a bit awkward. He laughed uncomfortably.
"You're the only one who talks to me formally like this, Priest Marnak. Really, I'd be totally fine if you spoke casually."
"I'm comfortable this way."
As long as the other person wasn't looking down on me, kindness could be a very useful tool. A good impression was more valuable than most people thought—especially when it came to sniffing out bad actors.
"Well, if you say so, I won't argue."
"Phuer!"
"Ah, looks like I've gotta go. I'll be right back!"
Phuer, who had been about to keep rambling, gave me a quick nod and ran across the snow-covered path toward Galad, who had called him from the front of the group.
Once Phuer—who had been chattering nonstop from morning until now—disappeared, only the sound of my slow breaths and steady heartbeat remained.
'Kill them!'
"Mother, must you keep insisting I kill everyone? If they all die, that actually puts me in a tough spot. What am I supposed to say when I get back to Guis? Thirty silver coins... no, twenty-nine, since I already got one in advance. Your son desperately needs twenty-nine silver coins. I just want to survive this winter with a warm back, that's all."
'Kill...'
With a slightly defeated tone, the Mother of Decay reluctantly backed down.
Our dear Mother of Decay, unfortunately, didn't have the power to conjure money out of nowhere.
I patted the hand tucked inside my cloak.
"I may have been a little harsh just now. Poverty has clearly nibbled away at my bright rationality. Please don't feel too disheartened by your foolish son's outburst. Honestly, I don't mind being a bit cold. Once spring comes, my back will warm up on its own, won't it?"
'Kill!'
The Mother of Decay was quick to forgive.
The light was starting to dim. Galad could be seen up ahead urging the party to pick up the pace, so it seemed we still had a ways to go before reaching the planned campsite.
Phuer returned from Galad's side with his mouth firmly shut.
I chuckled and spoke to him.
"Did you get a little talking-to just now?"
Phuer glanced at me, looking sheepish.
"Captain told me not to bother you too much. Said it'd be annoying if I stuck to you all day long, chatting from morning till night."
Sure, it was a bit annoying... but it was still nicer than walking in silence.
"I really don't mind. So don't worry about it."
Phuer's face lit up. He looked like a baby bear smiling.
"Really, Priest?"
"Yes."
A subtle presence. A faint sound slicing through the air.
Something tugged at my sensitive senses.
I instinctively shoved Phuer to the ground.
Thwack.
Two arrows struck me—one in the stomach, one in the shoulder.
The culprit attacking travelers wasn't a ghost. It was a person.
A bandit, maybe.
"S-Saint?! A-Are you okay?! Th-The arrows!!!"
I calmly assessed the situation.
Up ahead, Galad was already lying face down, an arrow lodged in his head.
Out of the ten members in our group, fewer than five had avoided getting hit.
The precision was terrifyingly sharp. It was far too coordinated and deadly to be the work of ordinary bandits.
'Kill!'
The Mother of Decay suggested I take the chance—fall over and play dead.
It was a rational idea.
With the enemy's numbers unknown, the best course of action was to wait until they revealed themselves.
I glanced behind me.
Phuer was trembling like a leaf despite his massive build—this was probably his first real fight.
If I pretended to be dead now, the others—except me—would definitely end up actually dead.
'Kill!'
"I know, Mother. I know exactly what the smart move is."
This is a game.
The whole world here is a game. Those about to die are just data. NPCs. I'm the player.
"But you know what, Mother?"
With two arrows still lodged in my body, I sprang to my feet.
I darted toward the nearest corpse I had already spotted, yanked the main weapon from its waist, and charged forward shouting—
"This is just how I do things!"
I swung the sword.
Blood sprayed.
The head of a bandit, dressed in dark clothes and hiding in the shadows, went flying.
There was more than one enemy.
I scanned the area with eyes that could pierce the darkness and charged at the next one.
Yeah—this was always how I played the game.
Protecting what I wanted, doing things my way.
Because that's what games are for—doing what you want to do.
Velkir was a deserter from the Rangers.
Unable to adapt to their rigid discipline, he fled.
After narrowly shaking off the pursuit, he hid in a mountain village, where he trained a few like-minded thugs and formed a bandit gang.
Using Ranger knowledge for banditry turned it into something like a natural disaster—ordinary farmers had no hope of resisting it.
Velkir ran things systematically, only attacking groups of farmers small enough to avoid stirring major retaliation.
He knew all too well that one flashy heist would get him killed fast.
But as time passed and the raids continued, the local lord finally dispatched mercenaries to hunt him down.
It was time to move the base. But before leaving, Velkir decided to pull off one last job.
He picked the mercenaries sent by the lord as his final prey.
They were armed, sure, but the value of their gear made them more profitable than farmers.
If they struck first, from hiding, there was no way his seven trained subordinates would lose to just ten mercs.
That was his judgment.
Everything went according to plan.
The sun was setting, the mercenaries were relaxed and marching in a long line.
He gave the signal to his hidden men, ready to pounce.
The ambush was a success.
Five out of ten were hit. The one who looked like the captain died instantly from Velkir's arrow. The mercs hadn't even figured out where the attack was coming from yet.
The problem... was that priest.
He showed up like a beast, arrows sticking out of his stomach and shoulder, as if he'd been waiting for this.
He drew a sword from a corpse and charged one of the hidden men, cleaving off his head
in a single blow.
Velkir cursed without thinking as he watched the madman.
"Shit!"