Damn Reincarnation - Chapter 167

Chapter 167

“Fuck, are you being serious right now?”

“Th-that’s… but I’ve already told you so many times, it’s not something I can arrange just because you insist on it—”

“There are so many ships in this port, but are you seriously telling me that none of them are willing to set sail!”

Baaang!

The wooden table shook like it was about to break. The receptionist’s body trembled in the face of this violent outburst. Intense pressure was weighing down on him, keeping him from moving. The receptionist knew that it wasn’t that the man in front of him was incapable of breaking the table with that blow just now; it was that he had chosen not to.

“…N-no matter how much you push me, I can’t do what I can’t,” the poor receptionist insisted.

“Push you? Should I show you what it looks like when I really push you?” The man cursed, “Fuck, I went through so much to get here. I might as well grab a ship, cut the anchor lines, and set sail by myself.”

“Please… you need to understand the situation—”

The reception’s desperate pleas abruptly cut off. The bloodshot eyes glaring down at him from the man in front of the receptionist made it feel like a grip was tightening around his heart. Unable to continue speaking, the receptionist desperately diverted his gaze.

A voice suddenly rang out, “No matter how lacking in manners you might be, you shouldn’t go that far, right?”

“I guess that’s just how terrible this world has become,” another voice sighed.

The man heard a rattling noise approach from behind him.

The receptionist’s face turned pale as the corner of the man’s lips twisted up in a smile.

“I was wondering which sons of bitches had started yapping,” the man began as he turned around, still smiling.

Standing there was a group of young knights whose soft faces didn’t have even a single scar between them. Their armor, which had been diligently polished and even oiled, shone in the sun.

“But it turns out that instead of a pair of bitches, it’s just a couple of cute puppies,” the man finished with a mocking chuckle.

“…What did you just say?”

Faced with this vulgar mockery, the knights’ expressions darkened. The sigil of their knightly order engraved onto their chest plate declared they were members of the Silverwing Knights of Turas. Upon seeing their sigil, the man burst into laughter once more.

“Just by looking at you, I can tell that you’re just a couple of scumbags who’ve barely managed to graduate from their apprenticeship, so are you really supposed to be here, doing this? Your boss just had his legs cut off the other day,” the man reminded them.

“…What do you mean by that…?” a knight muttered.

“I’m saying that you should go and clean up the piss and shit of your captain, who’s been confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life,” the man said with a snicker as he plopped his ass on top of the receptionist’s desk.

In a battle a few days ago, the entire mercenary guild building had been blown to pieces, so a temporary reception desk had to be set up on the roadside to deal with any mission reports. It was thanks to that that an incident like this occurred.

One of the knights sputtered furiously, “A mercenary bastard like you dares to act so insane—!”

Hit by this series of insults, the young knights couldn’t bear it any longer and drew their swords. Seeing this, the receptionist’s face was dyed with despair.

Pedestrians who had just been passing by halted their steps and became spectators to this scene. Although a large-scale battle had taken place here only a few days ago, if it was watching other people fight instead of personally taking part in the terror of the battlefield, they could still find the fun in spectating.

“Oh, so you’ve drawn your blade? What’s next? Are you going to throw a handkerchief? Or maybe a glove?” The man snickered and waved his hand dismissively. Then he grabbed his nose and, with a twisted sneer, went, “Sniff sniff…. Ugh, your mouths still smell of breastmilk… do you babies really think that’s how you’re supposed to hold your sword? Huh? Have you ever even cut someone with those knives of yours? In the first place, are you really planning on taking me down now that you’ve drawn your swords? Hm? Or did you think that just by drawing your swords and striking a knightly pose, you’d be able to make this mercenary bastard sneak away all on his own?”

“Draw your sword!” shouted a young knight, who appeared to be the leader of the group.

At this challenge, the man just snickered once more and stood on top of the reception desk.

A few mercenaries and knights were mixed among the spectators who had stopped to watch the show. They could recognize who this man was and felt pity for these young knights who seemed to know nothing about the real world. The mercenaries trembled in horror while imagining what would happen next, and even the knights began to take a few steps back, not wanting to get caught up in the fight or get hit by any stray sparks.

“My sword?” the man repeated with a chuckle as he reached both hands inside the worn-out cloak draped over his shoulders.

…Was this guy even a swordsman in the first place? This question suddenly swirled in the minds of the knights surrounding the man.

Clunk.

The sound of metal hitting metal rang out from inside his cloak. It was only a small noise, but the knights flinched and stepped back.

…It was an unconscious reaction.

Instead of retreating, what they really needed to do was step forward and swing their swords. But although they knew that was what they needed to do, their bodies had involuntarily taken a step backward.

“Choose,” the man commanded.

Bang.

When the man flapped his cloak, various weapons that had been worn on the man’s body fell to the ground.

There were about three or four swords of all different lengths and types, a heavy hatchet, a one-handed short spear, a whip, a flail… and many more weapons on top of that. So many that it was hard to believe he could even move while carrying all these weapons on his body.

The man elaborated, “As you can see, I can use many weapons apart from just swords. Do you have any weapons that you would prefer me to use?”

A knight hesitated, “…You, you’re just bluffing…!”

“A bluff? Hmmm, alright. I guess that means you don’t want to make a choice yourself? If that’s the case, I’ll have to choose carefully for you.”

It appeared that he still had more weapons he hadn’t yet taken out as the man moved his open hands back inside his cloak. The eyes of the knights watching him unconsciously began to tremble with anxiety. For some unknown reason, a tingling sensation was spreading across their skin.

“How about this?” the man asked with a broad smile that stretched the scars on his cheeks.

When he started pulling his hands out from inside the cloak, the knights gasped and took another step backward, only to freeze when the man finished his action.

The man’s hands were balled up into fists with his middle fingers raised.

The man kept a serious expression on his face as he waved his middle fingers in an eye-catching way.

Breaking the silence, the man asked, “…What? Is just a finger on each hand still too much?”

The knights gaped in shock, “That’s….”

As the crowd burst into laughter, the knights’ faces turned red in embarrassment. The humiliation and anger rising from the bottom of their hearts dispelled their mysterious fear.

Almost as one, the knights charged forward.

“…Is that really the guy you’ve picked?”

On the rooftop of a distant building, a female wizard who wore a large hat on top of her full-body robes frowned as she asked this question.

Although this location was quite a long way away from the site where the fight was taking place, she was able to observe the scene as if it was taking place right in front of her nose, and she could even clearly listen to their conversation.

“I don’t like him,” another voice said.

The wizard wasn’t the only one watching the man.

A female priest in black and white priestly robes clicked her tongue and shook her head as she said, “His skill might be second to none, but as a person, he’s far too vulgar. I swear in God’s name, that man has to be one of the rudest and most arrogant mercenaries I’ve ever seen in all my life.”

“…And in the first place, even his skill doesn’t seem that great?” the wizard said in support of the priest’s words.

Then, the giant warrior, who had climbed on top of the rooftop railing and was blocking the breeze from hitting the rest of the party, gave a heavy shake of his head and said, “No, that man’s skills aren’t to be taken lightly.”

“…And just why are you standing up there?” the wizard asked.

“The way he moves has excited my body and warmed up my blood. My soul as a warrior is screaming that it wants to compete with that man,” the warrior explained.

“Stop with your bullshit and just get down from there. Don’t you feel sorry for the railing that has to carry your huge bulk?” the priest asked as she rolled her eyes and stared daggers into the warrior’s back.

But instead of replying, the warrior just nodded his head and murmured in admiration, “…Just what is it that makes his skill so impressive…? Mhm… I think I’ve got it.”

Although he said this, the wizard definitely couldn’t understand what the warrior meant by this.

That mercenary did seem quite strong, but with just that level of strength, the wizard couldn’t see what made the man’s skills so out-of-the-ordinary.

“It’s still not enough,” the priest spoke up. She leaned forward, propping her body against the railing, and opened up the small bottle of holy water hanging from her waist as she continued, “Sir Vermouth, I just can’t tell why you would want to accept that mercenary as one of your companions.”

Vermouth Lionheart was standing a few steps behind the rest of the party. With his gray hair, which was neither black nor white, and golden eyes, which sparkled as if they had been spun out of gold, his face was so beautiful it was hard to believe that it belonged to a man, but at the same time he didn’t appear fragile.

“…I believe he is already perfect for our party as he is,” Vermouth confidently stated.

After bringing the holy water flask she always carried with her to her lips, Anise Slywood took several gulps of the holy water that seemed strong enough to burn her from throat to stomach with just one sip. She then glanced back at Vermouth with her narrowed eyes.

“Molon alone is enough to serve as our vanguard. Sir Vermouth, just what is it that you’re expecting from that mercenary? What do you think that mercenary can do for us that makes you so insistent on accepting him as a member of our party?” Anise questioned sharply.

“…I also agree with what Anise is saying.” While righting her hat that had started to tilt forward, Sienna Merdein continued speaking, “I don’t have much skill in melee, but that mercenary doesn’t seem stronger than Molon, though he seems even more barbaric than Molon…. So what help does it serve to add one more idiot?”

“I’m not an idiot,” Molon chipped in.

“If that mercenary isn’t as good at guarding our front as Molon, what is he supposed to be doing? Getting in close? Since we have you, Vermouth, do we really need another close combatant? Or, could it be that, unlike his appearance, that mercenary is also a devout cleric?” Sienna asked with a doubtful snort as she reached her hand out to the holy water flask that Anise had set down on the railing. “If he’s a priest with more faith than our holy water addict here, and who can work more powerful miracles, then… hehe, it should be fine to accept hi—”

Anise interrupted her, “There’s no way that would be the case, right?”

Slap!

Anise’s hand fiercely slapped away the back of Sienna’s hand as she declared, “I am the Saint of Light. No priest exists in this world whose faith is even slightly close to mine. That is why I am the one who was chosen to accompany Sir Vermouth on this journey.”

“Can’t you just give me one sip?” Sienna pleaded.

“No way,” Anise rejected firmly.

Sienna’s shoulders drooped at this resolute refusal.

“…He’s not someone you can look down on,” Molon Ruhr insisted as he stepped down from the railing. “That man’s attacks and movements might seem crude, but every action flows as smoothly and flexibly as flowing water. All corners of his martial skills have been polished to the extent that ordinary people can’t even begin to imagine… and it’s not just that.”

“What do you mean, it’s not just that?” Sienna repeated curiously.

“I can’t explain it exactly, but some kind of unique temperament is mixed into that guy’s skills,” Molon confidently claimed.

“Molon, you, by any chance, did Vermouth ask you a favor in advance? Hmm? Did Vermouth ask you to back him up a bit?” Sienna asked suspiciously.

“Vermouth hasn’t asked me to do something like that,” Molon denied.

Of course, she had known that would be the case. Sienna pouted her lips as she glanced back at Vermouth.

…It was just that this was the first time that Vermouth had shown such confusing stubbornness. On the way here, they had seen several would-be heroes, and among them, there had also been quite a few who were inspired by Vermouth’s feats and had asked to be accepted as a companion.

‘…But why is he trying to invite someone who’s just a petty mercenary to be our companion?’ Sienna thought to herself with frustration.

She had to admit that this mercenary was also a famous figure among the other mercenaries. A young mercenary who was able to skillfully wield all kinds of weapons and return alive from even the harshest battlefields. A ghost of the battlefield who wasn’t part of any mercenary company, who didn’t lead any subordinates, and instead of pursuing the highest pay, he wandered solely in search of battlefields full of demonic beasts.

That mercenary was Hamel Dynas.

“…This is my first time making such a request,” Vermouth finally spoke up. He stepped closer to the railing and continued, “But from now on, I won’t be making any similar requests of you.”

“…Sir Vermouth,” Anise hesitantly called out.

“Anise,” Vermouth responded. “You asked me what that mercenary can do for us and what exactly I’m expecting from him, right?”

Down there, the fight was already over.

All the seven knights who had surrounded Hamel had one of their limbs broken and were now sprawled across the ground. Hamel was gathering the swords that the knights had dropped and examining them. Even though he was stealing their weapons so openly, none of the onlookers attempted to stop him.

“…I’m not sure what he’ll be able to do either,” Vermouth admitted. “However, he definitely has something that I want.”

“…Huh?” Anise grunted.

“I want him to fight alongside us,” Vermouth said with a faint smile.

Anise’s eyes widened into circles at this smile. Anise wasn’t the only one showing such a surprised expression. Even Sienna, who had stealthily been creeping closer to Anise’s holy water flask, froze in mid-action, and Molon, who had been traveling with Vermouth for the longest time, felt his jaw drop.

“Currently, his skills might not be reliable enough. However, he will be able to catch up to us very quickly,” Vermouth promised.

“…It’s not enough just to catch up with us. Vermouth, you know that as well, right? We’ll be going to Helmuth soon, and from there, we’re going to slay the Demon Kings,” Sienna argued once she had calmed down from her surprise and stretched out a finger to point at Hamel. “That guy who just blatantly knocks out a bunch of young knights and steals their swords… there’s no way that he’ll be able to fight alongside us—!”

Vermouth interrupted her, “He’ll fight, and he’ll be able to stand at our side in no time.”

“…Sir Vermouth, did you receive… an oracle?” Anise asked in a trembling voice.

At this, Vermouth just shook his head slowly and replied, “It’s not a prediction. It’s just my… stubborn insistence. I intend to make him my companion somehow, so I’m doing what I can to try and convince you.”

“…Aaargh!” Sienna suddenly groaned and shook her head as she felt her chest constrict in annoyance at Vermouth’s frank admission. “So what? Are we just going to stand here watching him? If you’re going to make him our companion, shouldn’t we just go over there and talk with him!”

“Let’s go and say hello, shake hands, and test our strength against each other,” Molon proposed. “Then let’s raise a glass to our fallen foes. If we do that, we’re sure to become friends.”

“…I really didn’t want to make any more barbaric and foolish friends like you,” Anise sighed, still unconvinced and appearing dissatisfied.

However, since Vermouth had already gone so far to make such a request, she didn’t want to refuse him anymore.

The same went for Sienna as well. Among the members of their party, the only one who had accepted Vermouth’s insistence from the start without any complaints was Molon.

‘…What exactly does he have?’

That idiot, Molon, had said that he felt something. However, Sienna and Anise didn’t feel anything from Hamel. Was there really something that could only be seen by warriors?

A low-class mercenary with a rough demeanor — that was all that they could see in Hamel. Nothing more, and nothing less.

“And who are you lot?”

Or at least, that had been Sienna’s impression of him when looking from afar, but would things really change when looking at Hamel from up close? Sienna glared down at Hamel with a doubtful expression.

“I’m asking you, why the hell did you suddenly fly over just to fucking glare at someone?”

Wasn’t he being too cheeky with people he was meeting for the first time? Sienna’s eyes twitched in irritation as she continued glaring at Hamel.

He had a large scar on his left cheek. In addition to that, there were several other small scars on his face. His upturned eyes were hostile enough that you could tell he had a dirty personality from just a glance.

“Hamel Dynas,” Vermouth said as he was the first to float down from the sky and land in front of Hamel. While pressing down his gray, windswept hair with one hand, he approached Hamel and asked, “Have you eaten yet?”

Hamel and everyone else’s faces went blank in surprise at Vermouth’s sudden question.

“…What?” Hamel just grunted.

“It seems like you haven’t eaten yet, so why not have a meal together with us,” Vermouth said as he spun around on the spot.

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