[Era of Succession Year 2, Spring / 8]
Yo.
It’s me, the guy who just died in a pointless turf war between bandits.
My current location is surrounded by greenery. I suppose this is a corner of this bandit group’s territory.
Unlike the last time and the time before that, the equipment and scale this time are pretty solid.
No farm tools or kitchen knives here. Sure, compared to knights or adventurers, it’s pathetic, but we have swords, battle axes, and even spearmen. …Well, when I say “spears,” they’re “bandit spears”—basically just thick branches sharpened to a point.
If I called these “proper spears,” a blacksmith would probably burst into tears. But to a bandit, they’re fine weapons.
“Boss, what’s the prey for today?”
“The guys we caught last week said there’s a bounty on our heads. Think adventurers are coming next?”
“Even if they do, we ain’t scared of nothin’. Right, Boss?!”
They were looking toward a giant of a man sitting arrogantly. He was fiddling with a metal club in his hands.
“Damn straight. That’s why we’ve made the proper preparations. Adventurers ain’t sh*t.”
Preparations, huh? Let’s trace the memories of this body… Aside from the Boss, there are three guys with bandit spears and four others with decent weapons. There are two bow-users who aren’t here right now. “Preparations” must mean the archers are hiding somewhere for an ambush.
“What do we do after we finish off the adventurers?”
Most bandits smell sour because they don’t bathe or even wash with water.
Apparently, in some places, the intensity of your stench is part of your ranking.
However, generally speaking, the structure of a bandit pack—what you might call “bandit Society” or “bandit World”—is even simpler than a ranking based on smell.
The most important thing, above all else, is your fighting prowess. That’s almost everything. The stronger your muscles, the tougher your stomach, and the more cruel you are, the higher you rise. It’s a profession where you punch to get ahead, steal to get ahead, and kill to get ahead. There are very few places in bandit Society where you actually need to use your brain properly.
Besides, anyone who actually wanted to use their head wouldn’t choose to be a bandit in the first place.
“Gehehe, let ’em come, those crappy adventurers. Even if they bunch up, our [Raw Meat Bloat Club] will kick their asses!”
If you had to list the characteristics of bandits besides their simple brains and their smell, it would be their crappy naming sense.
And above all, the biggest trait is their confidence. They have an infinite supply of it. I’d totally believe it if you told me they sold the “retreat” and “caution” screws in their heads to buy more confidence.
Because of that excessive confidence, they firmly believe they can win against anyone, regardless of the evidence.
Maybe it’s their upbringing, but they’re just so reckless. It’s not like they left their sense of fear in their mother’s womb. It’s just that even if they experience something terrifying, they’ve completely forgotten it by the next morning. At the fastest, they might forget it after walking three steps.
That’s how conveniently a bandit’s brain is built.
“I see a light!”
A signal.
The hidden bandits must have spotted the prey.
“Looks like the adventurers hunting us are here. You lot, don’t screw up.”
“Yessir!”
The bandit squad moved to their positions.
This body’s owner didn’t seem to remember much about his comrades, but he at least remembered his role.
My job is the rearguard.
I either provide the finishing blow after the first wave charges, or I block the enemy’s retreat as needed.
I wonder if they’re underestimating the adventurers.
The power gap is probably massive anyway. I’ve heard that throwing forces in one by one is a foolish way to fight, but I wonder how it’ll actually go.
Though in this case, the “foolishness” is already a foregone conclusion.
✘✘✘
“Hihihi.”
“Hehehe.”
The bandits emerged from the shadows in droves.
The adventurer party didn’t look intimidated at all, even facing a significant number of enemies.
There were three of them.
A short man in heavy armor. A hatchet in one hand, a large shield in the other.
Judging by his physique and gear, he’s likely a warrior of the race called Dwarves. His movements and stance showed he was seasoned. A veteran. Scary stuff.
Next was someone I can only describe as “covered in cloth.”
It wasn’t like they were wearing bedding; it looked like a type of camouflage meant to hide the face and blur the silhouette. If that’s the case, they must be a scout by trade.
The last one was a person wearing a deep hood and carrying a large staff. Most people who carry staffs are magic users. I think it’s safe to assume he (tentative) is one too.
“bandits nesting on the highway, I shall grant you mercy just once. Drop your weapons and surrender!”
“Shut your trap! Get ’em!”
The scout let out a sigh at the exchange.
“I told you so, de-gozaru. They never learn, de-gozaru.”
“Even though you say ‘never learn,’ the opponents are different every time, so it can’t be helped.”
The hooded boy (tentative) offered a weak defense with a wry smile.
However, that statement is terrifying.
It means they introduce themselves and offer surrender every single time, piss off the bandits, and then proceed to win decisively.
I think the secret to living long as a bandit is to gather information from wherever you can, but sometimes you learn truths you’d rather not know.
With a single swing of his axe, the Dwarf sliced two bandits in half.
Dwarves are known for their Herculean strength, but I hadn’t heard of them being *this* powerful.
“The rest of you, charge!!”
The rearguard was sent in by the Boss’s roar.
“Hyah-ha!” “I’m gonna kill ya!”
The rearguard charged with plenty of spirit, but when they saw the powerful warrior who called himself Garako, they changed their direction. They charged toward the one who was clearly slimmer, even with the cloth layers. They probably figured that would be a better matchup for a brawl.
I guess that part of the fight is “full.”
I headed toward the staff-user who wasn’t currently marked by other bandits.
Two other fellow bandits had the same idea. I knew their faces, but not their names.
“《O Flame, Dance!》“
Along with the hooded boy’s words, a ball of fire flew from the tip of the staff toward us. As soon as it hit a bandit, he erupted in flames. I see. He really is a mage. Having noticed the attack coming right as the words ended, I barely managed to dodge.
Magic users are, roughly speaking, people who can bring about a result without going through the process—people who can handle “Magic.”
Even if they don’t prepare oil and fire to throw at someone, they can produce the intended result just by reciting words.
As a price, they consume an energy called [Ink]. I don’t know what Ink actually is. Some say it’s the foundation of the world, or life itself, or the energy you get from eating and drinking, but unfortunately, mages are extremely rare among bandits, and I haven’t been blessed with that rare opportunity yet.
All I know is that they produce results by connecting words to that Ink.
There’s something similar called [Petition], but I don’t think I have time to explain that.
“《O Flame, Dance!》“
Another guy went up in flames. I dodged again. Successfully.
“《O Flame—》“
I can’t just let him keep blowing us up.
I threw a handful of sand I’d been hiding in my palm directly at his face.
Just as he relies on magic, I have something I rely on too.
A power within this body called a Skill (Gikou). The one I have is the [Throwing] skill.
The Throwing skill specializes in, well, throwing things. Whether it’s sand or stones, I can throw them exactly how I want.
Thanks to the skill, I can easily calculate when, how, and in what form to throw. Handy, right?
I’d already confirmed that when he performs the “Chanting” required for magic, he takes a breath at the breaks in the words.
That’s exactly when I threw. I aimed for the moment he inhaled.
Fine sand rushed into his throat. He began to cough, just as I planned.
I picked up a dagger dropped by a fellow bandit who’d been blown up, ran forward, and tackled the coughing mage to the ground.
At this distance, I could easily kill him. He couldn’t escape. Furthermore, if his allies came over, I could potentially use him as a hostage.
In every respect, this was the Final Answer—the optimal move to put their party in “Checkmate.”
“Cough, hack… ah.”
As I pinned him down and pressed the dagger to his throat, his hood fell back.
It was the face of a young girl, her eyes wide with fear.
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Ah, damn it. She wasn’t just some reckless, defiant brat? I can’t use someone like this as a shield. If I get caught in the melee, the dagger might accidentally plunge into her. I wanted to sheath the dagger, but that would look unnatural, so I decided to make it look like I accidentally dropped it.
“Shiii!“
A creaking, spirited shout came from behind me. It was at the exact moment I “dropped” the dagger. In that instant, something passed through my neck.
It literally passed through.
Ah. A blade. I couldn’t even tell what kind it was.
All I knew was that, and the sensation of my life being effortlessly snipped away.
If I had used her as a shield, or if I had followed the original plan, I might have survived.
But there’s no way the life of a single bandit is worth the same as a young mage girl.
I know.
They’re adventurers. They’re in the business of killing and being killed.
Even so, I chose to give up. I hate having a bad aftertaste in my mouth.
If this were the end, it’d be different. I might have clung to life and struggled pathetically. But it’s not the end.
Since it’s not the end, this is fine.
✘✘✘
“Are you alright-de gozaru?”
“Forgive me. To let the front line be breached… I have failed as a warrior…!”
“N-no. It’s okay. I just got a little sand in my mouth, is all.”
As she spoke, she looked at the corpse of the bandit lying nearby.
“Why did he…?”
The dagger that should have been in one hand was rolling on the ground some distance away.
It was as if it had been thrown away intentionally. To the young mage, Letty, that dagger looked like a symbol of him throwing his own life away.
“Why didn’t he kill me…?”
There was no one to answer that question.
Most of those who have drifted away from the cities have had their hearts devastated.
Because bandits, who seek to steal wealth and life, trample upon the lives of others, adventurers hunt them down.
To buy a moment of peace, the powerless rely on adventurers.
In this lawless land where plundering is the norm, that bandit’s actions were alien—abnormal. However, the life of the one who could provide that answer was already gone.—
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