The heavy steel shutters of the mercenary guild, emblazoned with a massive wolf insignia, slammed shut behind him.
With the clank of metal, the acrid cigarette smoke, sour smell of cheap ale, and raucous shouts of the mercenaries that had filled the space behind him were severed in an instant.
In their place came the lively, clamorous, and somehow sharp-edged noise unique to an unfamiliar city—the din filling the main avenue of Berdam, the neutral city. Kyle paused amid the countless streams of people tangling together and looked around.
The architecture, clothing, and rough undercurrent permeating every corner of the streets were all subtly different from the world he remembered from 250 years ago. As a stranger setting foot in an unfamiliar city for the first time, Kyle opened himself to every sight, sound, and scent, beginning to sketch a rough map of Berdam in his mind. Kyle moved to one side of the avenue, took out the old leather pouch Antonio had tossed him, and set it on his palm.
It had a decent weight to it. When he cracked the pouch open, the sixty-three silver coins he had risked his life to scrape together from the miserable wreckage of the slave wagon and the shredded corpses of the mercenaries glimmered inside. Dark red stains of dried blood still clung to their surfaces.
Antonio must have been consumed by thoughts of revenge against the friend who had sold him into slavery, yet he had opened a path for Kyle—a complete stranger—to become a proper mercenary. Not only that, he had given Kyle half of the share he himself should have claimed, without the slightest hesitation.
Within the reason that coldly ruled his mind, Kyle once again engraved Antonio’s name clearly into his thoughts. It was not some soft, fragile emotion like common sentimental affection or tearful gratitude for a kindness received. Kyle’s essential rationality calculated even another person’s goodwill as a debt in the most efficient and rational form possible. It was the first unprovoked kindness he had received after being dropped into this strange continent of the future, twisted into something so vicious and cruel.
I’ll repay this debt. No matter what.
The calculation was simple. Murderous intent directed at him would be returned as overwhelming violence and death, while kindness shown to him would be repaid after being converted into something of even greater value. That was the absolute rule Kyle had established to preserve his sanity and survive in this lawless world. After fastening the pouch of silver securely to his waist, Kyle drew a deep breath of the unfamiliar street’s air.
All he had on was the old, worn-out everyday clothing he had been wearing since the slave wagon. It was caked with dark red blood and dust from slaughtering beasts in the forest the night before, and even walking gave off a nauseating stench. But Kyle had no intention whatsoever of stopping at an inn to wash himself or buying a fashionable change of clothes.
The guildmaster had given him a test: bring back the heads of a goblin pack within three days. What he needed most urgently and immediately was a practical weapon capable of ripping through the tough flesh and hides of beasts and crushing their hard bones, along with armor that would cover his vital points.
Kyle closed his eyes and focused on sound and scent. Amid the streets tangled with countless shops and street vendors, the heavy, rhythmic ring of metal and the acrid smell of burning coal drifted faintly on the wind from somewhere in the distance. Following the traces of those sensations, Kyle made his way through the maze-like alleys. Before long, a street lined tightly with forges of every size appeared before him.
The moment he entered the street, Kyle swept his sharp eyes over the shops. He passed without so much as a glance at the bustling large-scale merchants displaying magic swords set with dazzling jewels and plate armor gleaming in the sunlight. Places like that existed to satisfy the vanity of nobles or fleece the blind money of rookie mercenaries obsessed with appearances. They had little to do with survival in actual combat.
Kyle stopped in front of a crude forge stall tucked away at the farthest, most neglected corner of the street, its sign so thickly coated in soot that it was barely visible. There was not a trace of glamour to be found. Only rough equipment made of black iron and animal hide lay scattered about carelessly.
“Hey, kid. There’s nothing here that’ll interest you—no shiny toys. You’re making a racket, so get lost.”
A burly blacksmith hammering a red-hot lump of metal while working the bellows shot Kyle a glance. Apparently displeased by the sight of a scrawny boy covered in blood from head to toe standing in front of his weapon shop, he waved him away roughly.
Ignoring the curt dismissal, Kyle approached the counter. He slowly examined the displayed weapons with an impassive, cold face before speaking briefly. By nature a man of few words, his voice came out dry and cracked.
“For actual combat. Light and sturdy.”
The blacksmith snorted at the terse demand, but Kyle paid him no mind as he searched the display. He passed indifferently over dozens of shoddy swords and axes until his gaze finally caught on a dark, grimy lump of metal lying in the farthest corner of the counter beneath a thick layer of dust. Without hesitation, Kyle reached out and picked it up.
Its edge had completely lost its sheen and looked dull, but the blade was far thicker than that of an ordinary sword. Its weight was perfectly distributed toward the grip and guard rather than the tip, giving it the deformed shape of a black-iron short sword. It was not a flimsy weapon made for showing off or decoration. It had been forged as a crude killing tool meant to cave in an enemy’s skull with a downward blow rather than a thrust, and to crumple the thick bones of monsters.
For Kyle’s current physical state—capable of feeding on an orc’s beastlike strength and producing explosive power—there was no weapon better suited to him. Kyle tightened his grip around the short sword’s rough leather handle and lightly cut diagonally through the air with a snap of his wrist.
Shing—! Whoosh! Though he had only slightly twisted his wrist, the blade tore through the air with a sharp, vicious whistle. A clean, lethal arc without a single wasted motion. The hammering that had filled the forge abruptly stopped.
“……Oh?”
The blacksmith stopped working the bellows, and the look in his eyes shifted from annoyance to deep astonishment and interest. It was a blacksmith’s hard-earned experience that let him know, from a single swing, what kind of life a person who handled weapons had lived. The blood-soaked boy’s movements were not those of a novice holding a sword for the first time. They were the movements of a predator seasoned by countless killing grounds.
“You’ve got a vicious eye and wrist for a kid who looks like that. I shoved that thing in the back because it was too crude for anyone to buy, but looks like it’s finally found the right owner.”
The blacksmith grinned and wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. Instead of answering, Kyle placed the black-iron short sword on the table, then selected three throwing daggers and a tough leather overshirt thick enough to cover him from the forearms to his vital points, setting them down beside it.
“How much?”
Kyle took out a pile of silver coins and placed them on the table as he asked. There was no hint of a shallow attempt to haggle. The blacksmith silently counted the coins and swept them into his pocket, then pulled out an old but sturdy leather scabbard from somewhere and tossed in a belt for carrying the daggers as a bonus.
The total came to sixty silver coins. With the pouch containing the remaining three coins secured, Kyle slid the black-iron short sword into its scabbard. The leather and steel scraped together with a clatter. Once the smell of blood and the feel of heavy metal settled against his body, a faint trace of relief finally entered Kyle’s cold eyes.
His preparations for violence were complete. After leaving the forge, Kyle raised his head and surveyed the city. His next destination was clear. The most basic and absolute prerequisite for making the hunt a complete success was thorough knowledge of the enemy. Kyle had no intention of making the foolish mistake of judging the monsters of this hellish world based only on the shallow knowledge he possessed of the past.
He needed to find where information gathered. A massive spire rising conspicuously above the city buildings entered Kyle’s view. A faint blue glow hovered around its peak. It was likely a place where mages or scholars who dealt in knowledge resided. Rather than ask people for directions, Kyle used the spire as a compass and set off.
He arrived at a massive public library on the outskirts of the Mage Tower, opened to civilians by cash-strapped low-ranking mages in exchange for payment. After tossing a silver coin to the guard at the entrance and pushing through the heavy wooden door, he was greeted by the musty smell of parchment and the imposing sight of tens of thousands of books packed onto shelves that nearly reached the ceiling. It was a quiet, chilly space where dust motes drifted through the sunlight.
Kyle looked around the interior, where dozens of bookshelves twisted together like a maze. With countless books shelved at random and no signs to guide him, finding only the information he needed immediately did not look easy. He was scanning the shelves, trying to decide where to begin, when—
“Are you looking for a particular book?”
At the calm voice from behind him, Kyle quietly turned his head. A young female librarian stood there, her dark-purple hair neatly braided down her back and a thick book held against her chest.
She wore the neat robe symbolizing the Mage Tower, but the shoulders were embroidered with intricate silver patterns not found on ordinary librarians or low-ranking mages. Behind her intelligent eyes lingered a clear, deep aura of magic on an entirely different level from that of ordinary people. She was no mere librarian. The refined dignity and density of her magic, far too polished for this library, had caught Kyle’s senses. But there was no reason to question her identity right now. Kyle withdrew his hostility, stared at her with dull eyes, and answered briefly.
“A monster compendium. I need the latest information, especially on goblins.”
She showed no surprise at Kyle’s clipped manner or his shabby, bloodstained appearance. Instead, she nodded with the interested look peculiar to someone extremely perceptive.
“Then you’re trying to learn about the ecology of the monsters in the outskirts. Please wait a moment.”
Without hesitation, she walked to a nearby shelf, climbed a ladder, and pulled out a hardcover book bound in thick black leather. She handed it to Kyle.
“A compendium of monster species, containing the latest information on the ecology and traits of the monsters you’re most likely to encounter. It should be enough to answer your questions.”
Kyle accepted the book, gave her a brief bow, and took a seat in the library’s most secluded reading area. The librarian watched his back for a moment. Her violet eyes narrowed meaningfully over the blood-soaked boy’s shoulders, then she returned to her work as though nothing had happened. At his seat, Kyle began turning the pages at a frightening speed, imprinting the information into his mind.
What seized Kyle’s attention were the records on the ecosystem of monsters twisted and evolved over the course of countless years. During the old imperial era, goblins had been nothing more than stupid, undersized, lowest-rank monsters. But the pages were filled with accounts of how those that survived the long years of war had imitated human methods and undergone a horrifying transformation.
[Modern goblins are not merely hungry beasts. They hunt in packs, imitate human tactics, and lure prey into crude traps and snares. Of particular concern is the existence of the mutant leader known as the ‘Hobgoblin.’ When a Hobgoblin stands at the apex of a colony, the pack transforms into a small army governed by a strict chain of command and absolute control. Hobgoblins possess high intelligence and overwhelming strength, and in rare cases, individuals blessed by the power of the Red Moon can wield mana and engage in slaughter.]
The light in Kyle’s eyes turned cold as he closed the book. Even though he had gained an orc’s strength and grown considerably more powerful, the compendium made the reason he could never let his guard down in this brutal world perfectly clear. Having confirmed that the enemies he would face in the forest were a far more cunning and dangerous group than he had expected, Kyle rose from his seat without hesitation.
Rattle, rattle. An old mercenary wagon that had passed through Berdam’s gates raced tirelessly along the rough roads at the edge of the continent. Sitting alone and leaning against the wagon’s cargo bed, Kyle kept his eyes half-closed while running his thumb over the rough grip of the black-iron short sword at his waist. The information he had read in the library and the details of the assignment he had received continuously intersected and aligned in his mind.
The western Black Forest, the site of the assignment, and the slaying of a goblin pack. The assignment from the mercenary guild was clearly a lowest-rank slaying that even low-ranking mercenaries should have been able to handle without trouble. But when he applied what he had read about the evolved goblins, the details of the assignment revealed a strange incongruity.
The problem was that they had gone beyond simply appearing near the village and stealing livestock: they had ‘abducted’ people. A hungry beast would have torn into its prey on the spot, but capturing humans alive and dragging them away suggested a deliberate purpose carried out under strict control. As the blood-red sunset began staining the western horizon crimson, the wagon gradually slowed and came to a stop at the entrance to an outlying village on the edge of the Black Forest.
“Hey, we’re here. With the sun down, the forest looks pretty ominous, so I’m going to hurry back!”
The driver, his face filled with fear, turned the wagon around the moment he received his fare and sped away as if fleeing, kicking up clouds of dust. Left alone at the village entrance, Kyle slowly turned his head and surveyed the village. The moment he stepped inside, he immediately sensed that something heavy had settled over the air surrounding it.
It was the time of evening when chimneys should have been sending up smoke and the smell of cooking dinner should have filled the air, yet not a single plume rose from them. The entire village was crushed beneath an eerie silence. Farm tools abandoned along the road. Windows tightly shuttered. The villagers peering out through cracks in the darkness hurriedly slammed their doors shut with planks the moment they met the eyes of Kyle, the unfamiliar stranger. Their ashen complexions were not simply those of people grieving the loss of family to a monster attack. They looked more like people eking out each day in terror, holding their breath before some enormous, invisible violence.
Creeeak. An old man leaning on a worn staff cautiously stepped out of the largest house in the center of the village. He was the village chief. Kyle approached, took out the slaying assignment bearing the mercenary guild’s seal, and held it out without a word.
The chief accepted the assignment, his eyes trembling as they nervously swept over Kyle’s youthful, emaciated frame. A moment later, unmistakable disappointment and resignation passed across his wrinkled face.
“The person dispatched by the mercenary guild to handle this assignment is… just you?”
Kyle saw no need to make excuses or take offense at the question.
The chief’s disappointment was only natural. Judging by the abnormal fear in the villagers’ eyes, they were terrified of something in the forest. Kyle stared coldly into the chief’s trembling pupils. A bizarre terror pressed down on the entire village. These villagers were concealing something enormous. He could not yet know exactly what tragedy had unfolded in the forest or what circumstances and threats had entangled these people.
But it was easy enough to infer that the assignment posted with the guild—‘sightings of five or six goblins’—had nothing to do with the immense terror currently gripping the village.
Rather than question him rashly, Kyle simply maintained his silence and stared at the old man. There was no doubt that trying to dig out the truth now would yield no useful information from lips paralyzed by fear. It was the chief who could not endure the suffocating silence. Unable to meet Kyle’s cold, emotionless gaze, he nervously rubbed his dry face and cautiously began to speak.
“……The sun has already gone down, so going into the forest right now would be difficult. For now, I’ll show you to an empty room on the outskirts where you can rest for the night. You can go into the forest tomorrow morning, once it’s light……”
At that, Kyle quietly nodded. With his head bowed, the chief staggered ahead toward an old, vacant house far from his own. Kyle followed slowly, alternating his gaze between the chief’s stooped back as it receded and the sinister outline of the western Black Forest beyond the village, its deep darkness spread wide like an open maw.