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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Cyno
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The heart of Kara had lost its liveliness and fallen eerily quiet. The children who used to come every day, noisily kicking balls and shouting, were nowhere to be seen these days, and the great merchant guilds from the continent, once bustling through the city haggling over trade goods, had also dwindled significantly.
“The Kingdom of Robros has dispatched an army of one million to strike Kara.”
Upon hearing this news, the citizens of Kara lived each day trembling with fear, dreading the nightmare about to descend upon them.
Of course, to be frank, it wasn’t truly one million. From what I knew, it was about 150,000. But where 150,000 combat troops march, nearly just as many war profiteers, engineers, construction workers, brothel women, and so on follow behind. That makes about 300,000, and since 300,000 doesn’t sound nearly as intimidating, people conveniently round it up to a million.
Still, even 150,000 was no force to take lightly. If they lined up in ranks before Kara’s walls, the horizon itself would disappear. For those facing them as enemies, whether it was 150,000 or a million, the terror was practically the same.
“During the height of battle, you don’t need to worry. You won’t die.”
At my detective agency office, I was having an intense consultation with an elderly man. He was a well-known landowner in Kara, and the anxiety of impending war had driven him to seek my advice.
Listening carefully, the old man asked,
“But won’t fire arrows and stones from siege engines rain down from beyond the walls?”
“How many do you think actually die from that? Even in the fiercest fighting, if one in a thousand dies, that’s considered heavy losses. What’s truly terrifying is right after the war ends.”
“…Pardon?”
“Once the city falls, looting runs rampant for several days. That’s when the common folk are slaughtered in droves. Murder, rape, plunder—unimaginable things happen then. Human life is worth less than a fly’s.”
The old man swallowed dryly.
“How bad… is it, exactly?”
“Think of it as hell itself opening before your eyes. Now, if the enemy commander happens to be a man of great character, he might forbid looting. But how easy is that? All it takes is one unruly soldier walking out of some house with a golden candlestick, and everyone else loses their minds.”
“Good heavens…”
“At least the knights and regular soldiers are somewhat more restrained. They’re subject to orders from above. Some naïve soldiers will even walk away happily if you slip them a few coins. The real problem is mercenaries. You can’t even call them human. They’re executioners with no leash. The moment mercenaries break into your home, you can assume your whole household is dead.”
Mercenaries couldn’t be controlled. Unlike the occupying army, which had to rule the city afterward, they only cared about making money. Naturally, once they set out to loot, they showed no mercy.
“Are mercenaries truly that brutal?”
“Oh yes. The moment they storm a mansion, the first thing they do is cut down anyone they see. It’s to create an atmosphere of terror, so the rest will hand over their wealth willingly. Then they start killing one by one, and when finally only you are left, groveling that you have nothing more to give—they just stab you through and move on to the next house.”
“H-how… how could they…?”
“That’s why I’m asking—do you happen to know any mercenaries?”
The old man nodded.
“Yes. My estate had monster trouble, and I’ve hired them a few times.”
“Oh boy. Then you’re as good as dead. What a shame.”
“…Excuse me?”
“Mercenaries that used to be active in Kara have started disappearing one by one. Where do you think they went? They joined the Robros army to get rich by plundering your estate.”
The old man looked disbelieving.
“No, but surely, after sharing work together, they wouldn’t turn on me without regard?”
I couldn’t believe his naivety and scolded him harshly.
“Old man, you’re being ridiculously naïve. Do you think mercenaries have a shred of humanity? These are the types who split open pregnant women’s bellies and play kickball with the fetus. And now you’ve been marked in their ledger with your address and wealth. That means you need to chant your own death sentence. They’ll come for your house first.”
The old man’s complexion turned ashen.
“I-is that truly so?”
“Yes. Exactly. Which is why I’ll tell you how to survive.”
“Please… tell me.”
I leaned in and whispered.
“Go to the red-light district now. Hand some money to a few pretty girls and bring them into your household as dependents.”
“…What? Why?”
“Looting usually goes on for a few days. All you have to do is survive those few days. After that, order is restored.”
“And?”
“So when the looting starts, invite passing Robros soldiers into your home. Give them food, pour them drinks, let them enjoy the company of the girls, and keep them inside. There’s a certain code of honor in looting—they usually avoid houses that are already being plundered. Just hold out like that for a few days.”
“Ahh…”
“And another thing. Do you have a daughter or granddaughter beautiful enough to make men lose their minds?”
The old man hesitated, unsure.
“Well… not particularly.”
“Then starting today, wander the streets. If you see such a woman, adopt her as your foster daughter.”
“What? Why?”
“You see, some knights fail to qualify for the elite orders, so instead they command units of five hundred or a thousand. If such a knight happens to pass by your house, you run out barefoot, bring him inside, introduce your foster daughter, slaughter some cattle and pigs, and hold a wedding right there on the spot. Then it’s over. Who would dare touch your household?”
“R-really?”
“Of course. Those are the ones doing all the hard work on the front lines. Nobles? The elite knights in orders? They’re worthless—high noses and nothing else. But knights commanding soldiers? That’s different. They’re practical men, with hundreds of subordinates. Who would dare cross them? And if you’re lucky and he stays in Kara, jackpot. Forget first or second tier nobles—you’d instantly become the most influential man in Kara.”
“Ahh…”
I rose and fetched a book from the shelf. Its title read ‘100 Ways to Survive Looting.’ The author’s name was mine, though in truth it had been ghostwritten.
“Take this. It’s packed with gems distilled from all the wars I’ve lived through. Keep it on you, read it over and over, and etch it into your heart. This book will save your life.”
“Thank you, Master.”
The old man clutched the book to his chest as though it were a sacred relic.
I moved to the display case of magic-bullet launchers.
“Do you have any fighters in your household?”
“Yes. I’ve taken in a few martial retainers, and I have about a dozen sturdy young men.”
“Perfect. Then buy a few of these.”
I opened the display and pulled out a magic-bullet launcher. These were bottom-grade models, mass-produced by nearby workshops for 38 gold leaf each using low-tier essences.
“And what is that thing, exactly?”
“A magic-bullet launcher. With this, even ordinary men can take down mercenaries. Up to three of them, in fact.”
“Really? But why would I need something so dangerous?”
“When the looting starts, mercenary bands of five to ten specialize in raiding homes. They’re small, fast, highly mobile. They’re the ones most likely to reach you first.”
“Ah, I see…”
“And wouldn’t it be bitterly unfair to die to them? They’re nobodies, really. So when they come, shut your doors and shoot them down. Simple.”
“But then…”
“Don’t think about what comes after. Just kill them and bury them in the back garden. No one will know. In the chaos, who can tell who killed whom? First, you survive. That’s all that matters. Those raiders are extremely cruel. If you do nothing, your entire household will be slaughtered.”
The old man nodded, understanding. Indeed, whatever came later, the priority was survival.
“Yes, I suppose that makes sense. How much?”
“Sixty leaf apiece.”
A little pricey, but reasonable. For wartime, selling offensive magical arms at that price was practically honest.
“I’ll take three—no, four of them.”
“Wise choice. Excellent. You’re showing your years of judgment.”
I grinned slyly and tallied up the bill. Consultation fee: 10 leaf. The book: 1 leaf. Four launchers at 60 each: 240 leaf. A total of 251 gold leaf.
After subtracting the wholesale cost of 152 for the launchers, my actual profit was only 99 leaf. Still, for a brief consultation, it was a tidy sum.
Once I sent the old man off, I hung a “Closed” sign on my door. Outside, other local gentry clamored for a consultation, but I gave them a sharp glare and sent them packing. It was noon. Time for lunch.
“Shura, Sister—let’s eat.”
I climbed to the second floor and opened the door where Shura and Sister Armida were. They were watching a large crystal orb on the shelf with troubled expressions.
“My goodness. How many are there? They just keep coming.”
“I know. Must be several thousand already.”
I slipped between them.
“What is it?”
“It’s a live feed from Folkin Gate, sent from Eurora’s Rain Janus.”
“Rain Janus?”
“Oh, Eurora’s floating battleship.”
Floating battleships were warships operated by the sky-city Chronos. Strangely, they sailed not on the sea, but the skies. Usually, they were docked at Chronos, but at times of historic upheaval or war, they appeared for purposes of observation and oversight.
From the ground, they appeared as mere dots in the sky, so most people didn’t recognize them as Valkyrie battleships, but they were known as the “Stars of War.”
I myself had once seen such a ship up close, during the age of destruction. It was Hildefernos, the floating battleship of Catrienne, which provided devastating aerial fire support during the siege of Folkin Gate, greatly aiding the defenders.
I sat down and watched the projection on the orb’s surface. It showed the Folkin Gate from above—Robros soldiers endlessly streaming out of the gates like an unstoppable flood.
“That’s a terrifying number.”
Shura studied the vision anxiously.
“Can Kara really win?”
“Absolutely not. Not against that army, especially with Duke Bastain leading them. Anyone sane would be packing to flee already.”
Shura cast me a worried look.
“Is Duke Bastain really that formidable?”
“Yeah. Not even someone who’s seen the future could beat him. His strategies are ever-changing, and he’s a master of improvisation. He adapts instantly to any situation. Seeing the future doesn’t help against that.”
“Really? But is such a way of fighting even possible?”
“Yes, but only because his field commanders are exceptionally skilled. His improvisation works because his subordinates are competent. Under Duke Bastain, there are no weaklings.”
Shura clutched at me desperately.
“Is there truly no way to win? Not even one in ten thousand?”
I rested my chin thoughtfully.
“Well… if we phrase it like that, then it’s not that there’s absolutely no way.”
“What way?”
“You’d have to play by different rules. Imagine if every piece you had in chess were a queen. Then even Duke Bastain would have no move left. Heh.”
“But that’s absurd.”
I nodded quietly.
“Of course it’s absurd. But it could also be real.”
“How?”
Simple. If I still had the thousand men who once served under me. They fought monsters even with their limbs blown off and their hearts pierced—biting down on swords to keep fighting if they had to.
They were insane. Before marching to war, they stabbed their own families’ hearts to ensure they slept peacefully. With a thousand such madmen, combined with my strategy, even Duke Bastain and his 150,000 troops could be crushed.
“A mad army, with a mad plan, charging madly at the weak point of the Robros army. Even Duke Bastain would have no answer. His strategies are all built on the premise of fighting humans. Against those who are no longer human, he has no chance. At least, at this point in time.”
I added that qualifier—at this point in time. The Duke Bastain of now and the Duke Bastain of eight years hence were entirely different men. Back then, he too would be a madman.
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