Kent quickly pulled himself out of the bad mood from his first kill. His first human kill, to be exact. Maybe it was Keldrak's mentality affecting him, or maybe Kent himself was just that kind of person. Either way, he didn't feel nauseous or shaken like how main characters in movies or novels often did after their first kill. He simply felt indifferent. Sad, yes — but only because the man he killed had been a good one, not because of the act itself.
Maybe I'm a born killer. Kent thought mockingly, unsure whether that was a good or bad thing. Well, in this world, it should be a good thing, right?
The militiamen and caravan hands were shocked by the death of the old knight, but more than that, their faces showed relief. Kent didn't judge them, that's just how people are. Except for one young man who glared at him with open hatred. Kent remembered he was the one who had bragged about the old knight earlier. That guy must have respected him deeply.
Kent looked down at the old knight's body and noticed something hanging from his neck — a roughly carved, bird-shaped wooden pendant. For some reason, Kent couldn't take his eyes off it.
"Did he have a son, or daughter?" he asked the militiamen.
They exchanged nervous glances, each waiting for someone else to answer, until one finally spoke in a trembling voice.
"N-no... he only has a newlywed bride at home..."
Not a gift from his child, then. Didn't look like something from a new bride either. Maybe just a toy he made when he was young. Before realizing what he was doing, Kent took the pendant and slipped it into his pocket.
Memento for my first murder. Kent thought. He knew he wouldn't be able to forget this old man whose name he didn't even know. If so, then having something to remind him wasn't a bad thing either.
Kent turned to the frightened caravan men.
"Can we begin the trade now?"
-----
The caravan didn't have much variety in their goods besides different kinds of farm produce. Coincidentally, that was exactly what Kent and his men needed. It should have been a win-win trade for both sides, if not for that stubborn old knight.
After taking enough food to last them a month, Kent began calculating their worth. Luckily, the game system was useful for that too. Each type of item came with detailed information, showing its value and expiration date. If I had this back in my world, Kent thought, I'd have been a supermarket god. The housewives would've worshipped me.
The company still had about fifteen hundred crowns left, after paying his four men. All the food they took cost around three hundred crowns.
The caravan hands were still terrified, their lives completely at the mercy of Kent's band. Their faces made it clear that as long as they were spared, Kent and his men could just take everything. Kent sighed. So much for "honest trade" with raiders.
After thinking for a moment, Kent took out a thousand crowns and divided them into two bags, five hundred each. He handed one bag to the caravan men.
"This is five hundred crowns for the goods."
Their eyes widened in disbelief. They hadn't expected him to actually pay, especially when he could just take everything and walk away. They stared at the bag, too afraid to touch it, unsure if this was some cruel trick meant to test their courage.
Kent could guess exactly what was running through their frightened minds. He shrugged and tossed the bag to the ground at their feet. Whether they took it or not wasn't his problem.
Then he turned to the young man who had glared at him earlier. Everyone nearby stepped back, afraid, but the young man stayed where he was, trembling yet defiant.
Kent threw the other bag straight into his chest. He caught it on reflex, staring back in confusion.
"That's five hundred crowns. Give it to that man's widow," Kent said, motioning toward the old knight's corpse. Five hundred crowns should be enough for her to live comfortably for at least a year, maybe more if she was careful with it.
Before the young man could respond, Kent turned and left the road, heading south through the forest. His men followed, carrying their newly gained supplies.
The young man stood there, watching them disappear into the trees, his face frozen in an indescribable mix of grief, anger, and confusion.
-----
"I thought you said no killing?"
Only after they had gone far from the caravan did Skarn finally speak up.
Kent literally facepalmed. The guy was rubbing salt into his wound without even realizing it.
"Yes, that was your order. As for me, I can kill whenever I like, understand?" Kent growled. "Like right now, for example, if you don't shut up!"
The drunkard idiot still didn't get it and tried to say something, but Joltul and Loki hurriedly clamped his mouth shut. Good. At least there were still a few people in his company with working brains, Kent thought.
Someone placed a hand on his shoulder. Kent turned around, surprised to see Ruthard.
"Captain, you are a man of honor," the monk said, looking him straight in the eyes.
After a moment, Kent looked away.
"That was unasked for," he muttered, though he felt a little better.
Ruthard said nothing more. Damn, this guy's good at this. Kent thought. That's a monk for you.
Clearing his head of everything that had happened, Kent began to plan their next course of action.
From the little information he could get from Ruthard, who had been traveling the continent for about a year, they were still far from Hedin's territory. They would need to travel at least another month to get there, maybe longer because they could not risk using the main road.
They had managed to secure supplies this time, but what about next time? Kent really did not want to end up in that situation again. He did not mind killing, but killing innocent people left a bad taste in his mouth.
If only there were not-so-innocent people that he could kill while getting supplies at the same time...
Wait. Actually there were, plenty even.
Kent's eyes brightened. This world had never been short of brigands and raiders. That was why knights and militias existed. Raiders were rarer here, but brigand camps in the mountains and deep forests were common. They hid there to avoid patrols, which happened to put them exactly along Kent's path.
It's decided, then. They would clear every brigand camp they could find. Brigands usually carried food, supplies, and decent weapons and armor. To be honest, his band's gear was barely better than the militia's from before, maybe even worse. Looking at the rust on his cleaver and Joltul's axe, Kent decided it was time for some upgrades.
Food, gear, and killing scum who preyed on innocents. That was like getting three birds with one stone. These brigands would also make good training for his company. The extra experience would be useful for leveling up before they could officially work as hired sellswords.
Not to mention, they might even get their hands on some famed equipment if they were lucky.
In this world, besides normal gear, there were famed versions of them. Take Kent's cleaver for example — a famed cleaver would be a well-known weapon used by some legendary fighter for years until it became stronger, sharper, and far more durable than its ordinary counterpart. It sounded ridiculous, but that was how this world worked. Famed gear dealt more damage, had better armor penetration, and consumed less stamina to use. In short, they were the kind of ultimate equipment Kent wanted for his company. Not just any gear, only famed versions of the best ones.
For now, though, Kent would be happy even with a famed version of his rusty cleaver. Like he'd said before, beggars couldn't be choosers. Famed equipment was often found in dangerous places, and brigand camps definitely counted. Sure, big cities had stores with higher chances of selling such gear, but cities also came with angry knights and not exactly friendly to ex-raiders.
Anyway, brigand camps, here we come.
The men looked at Kent. They could feel something in him change — a faint, dangerous excitement.
"When the Captain looks like this," Joltul said, "there will be blood."
"Great!" Skarn answered immediately.
A crow cawed somewhere above them. Maybe it was excited too, because there would soon be plenty of food.