Hunter’s Blade

C21 – Mercenary

Guided by Teibout, Shire arrived at a corner of the camp. Several mercenaries, their hair unkempt and attire untidy, stood in formation. Beside them stood an immense apparatus.

It was a Zhang Zhang crossbow, mounted on a carriage-like frame. Its front featured a mechanism that could be harnessed by two horses, and it boasted four broad wheels on either side, offering stability. At its rear, a galleon was attached to draw its mighty and sizeable bowstring. Nestled within the channel was a custom-made, palm-sized arrowhead, its end sharp and fearsome. The entire ballista was a testament to masterful craftsmanship, with numerous unidentifiable metal components exhibiting strength, solidity, and dependability.

“This is the ‘Blood Bride,’ the grandest ballista in history,” Teibout remarked, running his hand along its metal framework. “We represent the elite dragon hunting team of Mount Fan. Countless flying dragons have met their end at its hands. Anything struck by it won’t survive. No, we trust the might of technology and experience, Lord Rocher. Only what the eyes perceive is reliable.”

“As you can observe, I’ve enlisted the Dragon Hunting Squad of Mount Fan because I’m aware of their prowess with this sort of crossbow. They’re renowned mercenaries,” Rocher explained to Shire. “My team will collaborate with Mr. Teibout in battle. With him at the core, you should heed his commands.”

Walking around the ballista, Shire pondered to himself as he moved.

“Can this thing hurt the devil?”

“It’s not that straightforward. Haha, mortals are so innocent,” Gradiu cackled. “Your thought process is quite simplistic. Are you truly keen on plunging this world into chaos? Shire, we could join forces and comfortably subjugate these fools.”

Shire turned to face Teibout. “How does it fire upwards?”

Teibout provided a subtle signal. A mercenary approached the crossbow’s side and deftly pulled a wooden lever both forwards and backwards. The crossbow emitted a rhythmic creak, slowly elevating its shooting angle. Subsequently, the mercenary pressed the lever back into its original position. The crossbow descended automatically, once again aligned straight ahead.

The mercenary then demonstrated the ballista’s directional flexibility to Shire. The ballista wasn’t fixed onto the carriage. By pushing the ballista itself, it could pivot on its chassis and easily fire in any direction.

“Can it shoot the devil?” Shire questioned.

Teibout inquired disdainfully, “Young hunter, I’m growing somewhat weary of your inquiries. How many devils have you dispatched?”

Shire was stunned.

“… No.”

“No?” Teibout’s eyes widened, and he burst into laughter. The surrounding mercenaries joined in the merriment. Laughter filled the air, attracting other soldiers to gather around. Heads peeked out, and Shire found himself among them, feeling highly embarrassed.

“I killed a River Giant Devil on the way here.” Shire said.

“River Giant Devil? Is the River Giant Devil actually a demon?” Teibout laughed heartily again, so much so that he couldn’t straighten his back. “No, stop joking around. We’re dealing with demons here. We need a serious atmosphere! But you… you’re quite a character.”

Shire’s expression was very ugly.

“Your ‘tools’ can’t deal with devils.” Shire said.

“What’s your take? Do you truly think that?” Teibout’s demeanor turned serious. “Do you know what our profession demands? We hold respect for seasoned, well-trained soldiers. If you lack that, I’m afraid you need to step aside. Don’t disrupt our professional mission, don’t even think about meddling with us, and definitely don’t belittle us.”

“Mr. Shire won’t interfere with our established plan,” Rocher spoke up. “We require his insights as a consultant, given his extensive knowledge about demons. Shire, how much do you know about the demons captured within the Holy Church?”

Another embarrassing question.

“You know, right?” Shire asked Gradiu inwardly, “You’re acquainted with this winged demon…”

“Ah! Now you’re asking for my assistance! Weren’t we enemies?” Gradiu responded sharply, “I killed your companions. Yet, you need me and I need you. If you’re willing to transform enemies into allies, let go of your tangled, purposeless enmity and choose to befriend me… I’ll share all the information and knowledge I possess. How about that? It’s a beneficial deal, isn’t it? Since we’re destined to spend quite a while together, it’s time to drop your guard. Mortal, befriend demons.”

… “Leave me alone.” Shire realized he couldn’t yield to the demon. He believed demons would always be covetous and crafty. If they showed friendliness, it undoubtedly masked an even greater scheme.

Yielding to the expectant, skeptical, and scrutinizing gazes around him, Shire reluctantly admitted, “I don’t know. I’ll investigate upon returning to Gray Tree Hall…”

“I don’t have time for you.” Teibout’s hand swept through the air, as if swatting away the unrealistic notion. “Speaking of which, are you truly a Devil Hunter? You don’t seem to know much.”

Shire furrowed his brow. If he wanted to display his prowess, he could invoke the Hunter Spell. But…

“No need to inject this tense air of animosity here. Shire, my men will escort you to a place of rest. Mr. Teibout, let’s continue discussing our forthcoming strategy,” Rocher completely dismissed Shire.

Eager discussions about the upcoming course of action began. As they proceeded toward Rocher’s tent, Teibout turned back, casting Shire a disdainful glance.

I really can’t fathom why he’s so opposed to me, Shire pondered.

Shire waited a while, but no one appeared to guide him or lead him to a resting spot. Feeling somewhat foolish, he realized the others were engaged in hushed conversations. Occasionally, his name would pop up amidst the conversations, eliciting laughter. His growing embarrassment prompted Shire to seek out a place to rest, distancing himself from the group. As he took a half step forward, a hoarse voice emerged from a distance.

“Hold on.” A weathered soldier, with a broad forehead, snowy hair, and sagging, weather-beaten skin, called out to Shire. Seated beside a table, he was engrossed in playing bone cards with a few comrades. “Wait for me to finish this round.”

“Who are you?” Shire asked in confusion.

“Cease the bickering. I’m engrossed in the game.” The seasoned player turned around, focusing on the card game before him. “Hey, you cheated! You swapped cards when I glanced away!”

“Much obliged, much obliged. No need to stand on ceremony,” another soldier grinned, laying his cards down on the table and deftly collecting the scattered silver and copper coins.

“This is absurd, he took advantage of my distraction to meddle,” the veteran muttered while standing up in frustration. Seething with indignation, he made his way to Shire’s side and said, “Let’s go.”

“I am Shire. What is your name?”

“I am Proulx from Yin Yu Castle,” the veteran replied lazily. “I serve as Rocher’s personal guard, assisting him in his endeavors.”

“Oh.” Shire trailed closely behind the seasoned warrior. “If you have a moment, I’d like to ask you something.”

“You’re using polite speech. You’re a well-mannered child,” Proulx nodded in approval. “Go ahead.”

“That Teibout, the head of the mercenaries, seems to hold a strong grudge against me. Do you know why?”

“Ahem, lad, if someone bears ill feelings toward you without reason, mark my words. It’s undoubtedly linked to self-interest,” Proulx explained slowly, “In the world, there’s only one conflict that’s impossible to mend—the conflict of interests.”

“What kind of vested interest could he possibly have against me?” Shire found it hard to comprehend.

“I don’t know. What are you doing?”

“Devil Hunter.”

Proulx stepped back slightly, studying Shire with suspicion. “So young? And yet you believe being a Devil Hunter means truly being a Devil Hunter? It’s quite commendable that you’re not scared to the point of wetting yourself at the sight of devils.”

“I have already made up my mind.”

“Alright, if you can indeed take down that monstrous creature and present its head to the Count, you’ll receive a reward of 100 gold coins.”

“100 gold coins!” Shire’s eyes widened. This was a substantial amount, enough to construct a spacious, appealing house in the outskirts.

“I had thought Devil Hunters were driven by pure, selfless motives, unswayed by monetary gains.” Proulx expressed surprise.

“No, it’s just a little…” Shire sighed.

“So, if you’re competitive, then… Strive your hardest to eliminate that demon. He lost a fortune because of you, so he’s resentful! I bet he’s in quite a predicament now.” Proulx burst into hearty laughter. “He hails from Mount Fan. The folks there are either savages or lunatics. He might just be their mix. Oh, I’m rooting for you. You seem like a genuine Loman local, a decent person. Unlike those filthy hillbillies. Once you bring the monster down, seize his moment of complacency, rush in, and sever the demon’s head. Then, you’ll be wealthy.”

“Firstly, we need to bring it down,” Shire voiced his uncertainty regarding the ballista.

Proulx guided Shire to a narrow tent amidst a cluster of round tents. Bizarre soldiers sat beside the fire, peering at Shire and Proulx.

“Hey, you can hang out here for a bit.” Proulx gestured towards the tent. “If you need anything else, just let me know.”

Shire peeled back the tent cloth, revealing a modest interior. A linen cloth separated him from the earth, with an empty crate nestled in the corner. That was all.

“I couldn’t ask for more,” Shire stated.

“Hehe.” Proulx strolled toward the fire’s edge, where a pot with fish simmered. He grabbed a wooden spoon and dished out soup amidst the grumbles of the others. The seasoned warrior glanced back at Shire and inquired, “Had dinner?”

“The villagers provided me with something to eat.” Shire stowed his backpack inside the tent and retrieved dried meat.

“Give me some.” Some individuals seemed adept at asking others for food. Shire didn’t quite comprehend, but he wasn’t keen on conflict, so he handed him a piece of meat.

Proulx chewed the meat.

“I noticed you had a sword on you,” he remarked. “Are you a swordsman or something?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I use a sword for self-defense, but I’ve never formally learned swordsmanship.” Only those who had received training in sword skills could be rightfully called swordsmen.

“I could teach you a few basic moves.” Proulx wiped his mouth and drew his sword. He elegantly manipulated his blade before Shire. “We’re preparing to face devils soon. Expanding your skill set can only be beneficial.”

Shire’s eyes gleamed with interest. In Proulx’s hands, the sword moved with a certain finesse. It swayed gracefully from side to side, and the control over the wrist’s strength was remarkably precise.

“This is Proulx, a master of swordsmanship.” The soldier beside him chimed in, “You’re fortunate.”

Shire retrieved the keen grey knife, evoking a tinge of envy from those around him.

“Fuck, if only I had such a good weapon…”

“Step by step, gradually widening your stance,” Proulx demonstrated to Shire, “One foot in front, one at the back. This way, you’re ready to move quickly. Keep your gaze fixed on your opponent. All sword techniques will incorporate these four stances.”

Following Proulx’s guidance, Shire began his learning.

“Barbarian,” Proulx gripped his sword with both hands and raised it high above his head. “This stance sets you up for effective counterattacks.”

“Autumn Harvest,” he leaned the sword to his right, positioning it behind him as if preparing to swing it forward. “From this angle, you can maximize your threat to the enemy.”

“‘Duel’,” he slightly tilted his body, adopting an eager stance. The tip of his sword aimed at the upper part of the target’s neck and chest. “With this posture, if you strike faster than them, victory will be yours.”

“‘Fool’,” Proulx lowered his sword with both hands, creating an illusion of an open door. This stance offers a convenient opening for your opponent to attack. “Whenever you sense your opponent’s guard dropping, use this stance to entice them into attacking.”

The more Shire observed, the more his excitement grew. He was immersed in perfecting his swordsmanship. The night gradually slipped away, yet fatigue didn’t touch him. He was transitioning from a novice who simply wielded a weapon to an apprentice who was gaining practical experience. Slowly, he stepped into the realm of swordsmanship, leaving behind his prior discontent completely forgotten.

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