Kent opened his eyes to an unfamiliar scenery.
Instead of his air-conditioned ceiling, he woke up to the sound of birds chirping and the smell of dirt and forest. For a moment, he didn't realize what had happened.
Oh right, so that wasn't a dream after all.
His mind grew clearer as the memories of yesterday returned — the chaos, the blood, and how he was now the Captain of a mercenary band camping at the foot of a mountain.
He thought of his parents and sister… Kent felt a pang of guilt imagining how devastated they must be, learning about what happened to him in that apartment. The only fortunate thing was that he'd had life insurance. His parents would receive a decent payout, enough that they wouldn't have to worry about living costs for the rest of their life. His sister would be there to comfort them too.
Thank God I didn't have a "relationship". That would only have added another person to mourn his "death."
Kent sat there for a while, feeling a quiet heaviness inside him, before slowly getting up. It was all in the past now. What he needed to focus on was living his best life here, in this new world of his.
Who knows, maybe he could even get a girl here. If she didn't mind dating a killer, that is.
"Get up, sleepyheads! We've got a long day ahead!"
Kent shouted loud enough to wake the dead. If he was awake, then there was no reason to let his men enjoy their morning nap. That's capitalism for you.
The men didn't seem to mind getting up early, especially the monk, probably because that was his daily monastery routine or something. They started packing up when Kent raised his voice again.
"Not so fast. We still haven't had breakfast yet!"
The men froze and looked at each other, confused.
"Uh, Captain Kel… what's a 'breakfast'?" Loki asked.
Oh right, that word probably didn't even exist here. Kent suddenly remembered there was no such thing as "breakfast" in the medieval era.
"Morning meal," Kent corrected himself. "Ruthard, you can make your soup now. And make sure it's piping hot."
"What? B-but we don't eat in the morning, that's gluttony!" Ruthard blurted out, clearly scandalized.
Everyone turned to stare at him. Kent sighed.
"I suppose you mean we, as in monks. Let me remind you, you're a sellsword now. And we sellswords eat morning meals."
Ruthard's mouth opened slightly in disbelief, and Kent added with a grin, "Oh, and we eat lunch too… I mean, luncheon."
Damn these outdated medieval terms. Good thing Kent had read a few medieval novels.
"Three meals a day! And we get paid daily on top of that?!"
This time it wasn't just Ruthard, even the three raiders looked astonished.
"Those idiots back at the tribe don't even know what they've missed…" Loki muttered, to which Joltul and Skarn nodded in firm agreement.
-----
After the meal, they quickly packed up and began their trek through the mountains.
Kent had to admit, three meals a day might not have been the wisest decision right now, not when they had no way to resupply before reaching the south. But a company's culture had to be nurtured from day one if he wanted it to stick. Proper meals meant better physical development and mental stability, and Kent wanted his company to become a band of elite warriors. Elite warriors deserved elite treatment, after all.
For now, they had plenty of Direwolf meat — a blessing and a burden. The heavy load slowed them down, but the faster they ate, the lighter they'd travel. The furs, on the other hand, would be invaluable for keeping warm in the highlands. They still reeked horribly, though. Kent couldn't decide which was worse, the smell of damp wolf hide or his men's collective body odor. His money was on the latter.
The first thing he was going to do after crossing this mountain range would be ordering every one of these stinking bastards to wash themselves over and over again at the first river they found. And he'd say a silent prayer for anyone living downstream of that river.
Let's hope we can cross these mountains in less than a week, Kent thought.
How foolish he was.
-----
On the other side of the mountain, two weeks later.
Five tattered men collapsed beside a small stream, lowering their heads to gulp down the fresh, cold water until their bellies were full. And water was the only thing in their bellies too — they hadn't eaten anything since last night. The only things left in their packs were a few tools, some worn gear, and bundles of Direwolf fur.
"Nobody… told me… that farking mountain was so big…"
Kent panted after drinking his fill, spitting out the words between gasps. There had been one tiny problem with his map, it only cleared the fog for places he could actually see in real life. Extremely useful for revisiting familiar ground, not so much for crossing an unexplored mountain range.
"According to what I know, nobody's ever tried to cross that mountain range before," Ruthard said. After two weeks together, he had gotten used to Kent's mannerisms and was no longer the timid monk he once was.
"Guess we know why now…" Skarn grumbled, spitting into the stream. His face was haggard, and his spirit nearly broken after going more than a week without a drop of wine.
That damn drunkard. Kent had told him to ration it out, drink a little each day and save the rest. But no, of course not. He just had to enjoy his big gulps. Serves him right.
Loki didn't say anything, or maybe he was just too tired to speak. He looked worse than even the monk, probably because he'd been carrying more than his share of the supplies.
"What now, Captain?" Joltul finally asked.
Kent took a few deep breaths, forcing his aching mind to focus. From the mountain peak, he'd spotted a small settlement — a village, sitting not far from where they were now. If they went a little south and followed the western road, they could reach it by afternoon.
The only problem was, he didn't know which noble house it belonged to. Ruthard wasn't sure either. He said it could be either Silverhart or Grimmund. The only thing he could say for certain was that it wasn't Hedin.
In other words, one hundred percent hostile. Wonderful.
Still, that was their only option.
Kent really didn't want to rob anyone, all he wanted was to trade some tools or coins for food. But that didn't seem very likely. Imagine a band of thugs showing up at your door with weapons in hand, "Don't worry, we just want some cereal. Definitely no robbing intentions here."
Yeah. No way that would work, would it?
He briefly considered sending Ruthard alone. But that wouldn't solve much — the monk couldn't carry enough food for all of them, and buying too much as a lone traveler would look suspicious. Brigands often did that to spend their blood-stained coin, and Kent doubted the local militia would hesitate to arrest the poor monk on suspicion of working with outlaws . To be fair, it wouldn't even be that far from the truth.
Kent was still weighing his options when something appeared on his map. He zoomed in mentally — a moving icon. A caravan.
He climbed up the nearest tree for a better view. Sure enough, a small caravan was trundling down the southern road, heading toward the same village. From here, Kent could see maybe ten people in total, with less than half of them armed.
Now that was a new option.
No, not raiding them — of course. He could trade with them. Buy food, maybe some supplies. If they turned out friendly, great. If not... well, there was always the possibility of "forceful trading." Kent was confident that he and his men could disarm those guards without killing anyone. Probably.
"Get ready, men. Time to work!" Kent shouted as he jumped down from the tree.
Ruthard gave him a strange look, and Kent froze mid-grin, realizing that had sounded exactly like a brigand captain rallying his gang. He coughed to cover it up.
"Not raiding, of course. We're not raiders anymore. There's a caravan nearby, and we're going to, uh... trade with them."
The three ex-raiders exchanged confused looks. Joltul scratched his head. Clearly, this kind of order was... new to them.
"Weapons ready, though," Kent added. "Just in case there's trouble."
That got a reaction. Their eyes lit up immediately, now this was something they understood.
"No killing!" Kent quickly reminded them.
Ruthard sighed audibly. Kent could read his expression perfectly, the monk didn't look convinced.
"I'll say it again. No. Killing!" Kent repeated, louder this time.
To be honest... he wasn't convinced either.