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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: The Overlord's Appearance (1)
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It hadn't been long since Attila arrived in this world, but he had already realized that the novel and reality diverged in subtle ways.
'Like a game based on the novel.'
The broad strokes matched, but the finer details differed.
Take Otto, the leader of the Paulownia Mercenary Corps, for example. In the original story, he was never even named before being wiped out by the Gascony Duke's forces.
That made Attila even more cautious about interfering with the Bawang Hero Chronicle's history.
"So far, things are going smoothly enough."
The biggest change he'd caused since arriving in this world was thwarting Gundika's ambitions—and by extension, the Gascony Duke's plans.
In the original, the Gascony Duke attacked the Aquitaine Count's territory using his massive army and Gundika's savage tribe.
He didn't even consider the Aquitaine Count a worthy opponent.
'The power gap between the two forces was that vast.'
But contrary to the Gascony Duke's expectations of an easy victory, the war turned into a brutal stalemate.
The reason? A certain powerhouse was hidden among the Aquitaine Count's forces.
'Charles Ainheart.'
The war that first made his name known to the world.
That was the impending territorial conflict between the Gascony Duke and the Aquitaine Count.
Unaware of Charles's existence, the Gascony Duke mobilized his army regardless of failing to secure the savage tribe.
The consequences were obvious.
'Total defeat.'
If things continued like this, the Gascony Duke would suffer a crushing loss to the Aquitaine Count.
'That would drastically alter history.'
To prevent it, Attila needed to bolster the Gascony Duke's strength.
By an amount equivalent to the combat power of Gundika's savage tribe.
That's why he'd gotten the answer he wanted from Lord Bertrand.
'You shall join this war as well.'
Attila smiled.
To fight his enemies the way he planned, he needed a lord's backing.
And now, the one who had to carry out that heavy duty was Attila and...
"Eeeek! Th-the Aquitaine Count? You're saying I have to go to a war like that?!"
Otto.
"Or you could just get your head chopped off."
"Aigoo, sir! Spare me!"
"Cut the 'sir' crap. I'm sixteen."
"Huh? Sixteen? Not forty-six?"
"You little shit."
Attila planned to join as a member of the Paulownia Mercenary Corps.
'That way, I won't stand out.'
But even as a mercenary, his appearance as someone from the western savage tribes was bound to draw eyes.
So, to properly outfit himself as a mercenary, Attila stopped by an armorer.
He left the haggling to Otto.
"What the hell is this? How much for this crappy helmet?"
"Good lord! Selling chain mail like this at that price?! I could stand on my head and weave it tighter with my toes!"
Thanks to Otto's talents(?), Attila managed to gear up decently at a bargain price.
Above all, he liked the helmet that fully covered his face.
'Not bad.'
Stuck to Attila's side, Otto rambled on that this weapon shop had no quality goods, true knightly armor was plate mail—which even the cheapest on the continent would cost over 100 gold coins and was hard to find—and he'd never worn any himself but dreamed of owning one someday.
"...Were you always this talkative?"
"Aigoo, Lord Attila. You're now a full-fledged member of the Paulownia Mercenary Corps. Hahaha."
"Yeah? Do I look like a regular mercenary now?"
"With that bear-like build, regular's a stretch. But you don't look like some damn savage... er, warrior from the savage tribes."
"You doing that on purpose?"
"What do you mean, milord? I'm hurt."
Before the duke's army arrived, Attila didn't waste time.
He gathered the Paulownia Mercenary Corps members and began training.
Scrounging them up, he got about thirty.
"Lord Attila! Please go easy!"
"No whining. You were a knight, weren't you?"
"Aigoo, that was ages ago! I've half-forgotten I was ever one!"
For all his talk, Otto was a surprisingly well-trained knight.
'Commander level, at least?'
A world apart from the three knights he'd faced before.
'Makes sense. He was a lord once.'
Plus, he had a knack for learning.
Of course, Attila's teaching helped a lot.
[Support Skill: Swordsmanship Training activated.]
Attila's main weapon was an axe, but he'd steadily learned other weapons, including the sword.
He planned to fight with a sword in the war against the Aquitaine Count.
'Knights and mercenaries in this era rarely use axes.'
Maximize support for the Gascony Duke's army without drawing attention.
That was Attila's goal.
'If Charles learns of my existence, he won't sit idle.'
He'd come charging without a second thought.
Just then, the bear cub nudged Attila's foot.
Reading its expression, Attila grumbled.
"Don't jinx it."
* * *
"If it's swords, leave it to me. Just sit back and let this Otto handle it, Lord Attila."
Otto seemed utterly devoid of any lordly dignity.
'Figures he failed so spectacularly.'
Attila was combing through weapon shops and forges for a suitable sword.
"What about this one, Lord Attila?"
Attila lightly gripped the sword Otto picked.
'Grip feels good, at least.'
He squeezed harder.
It rattled like the hilt might snap any second.
"No sturdier hilt?"
"Why're you so picky about hilts? Swords are about the blade. You're not planning to hold the edge and bash with the hilt, are you? I don't get it."
Otto grumbled but shut up at Attila's icy glare.
He tried a few more, but they were all the same.
"If you want an iron-hard hilt, you need a dwarf smith. Some master craftsmen make entire blades—from tip to hilt—out of dwarf steel."
As Otto said, in this world, the finest weapons and armor came from dwarves.
"Of course, getting dwarf-made gear is as tough as scoring plate armor. Real plate requires advanced dwarf techniques too—human versions are just cheap imitations... blah blah blah..."
Attila let Otto's endless chatter go in one ear and out the other.
He admitted he couldn't find a proper weapon in this village.
'I don't want to use Muhul.'
Besides, Muhul was short like a dagger despite its axe-like width, useless for proper combat.
He couldn't fight barehanded either.
'No choice.'
Time to pull out his alternative.
Gazing at the setting sun, Attila told Otto to bring his men to the inn.
"Why?"
"You've all worked hard. Let's have a proper drinking party. What, you against it?"
"I-I'll be right back!"
Otto dashed off, grinning ear to ear.
* * *
"Uahaha! The booze tastes like honey when Lord Attila's buying! Right, you lot?!"
"Yeah! Haha!"
The dining hall was packed with the Paulownia Mercenary Corps—former bandits not long ago.
"Innkeep! More booze here!"
"Right away. Just a moment."
The party dragged on late.
Some passed out asleep, and even Otto, chattering to the end, finally collapsed snoring.
Only then could Attila escape the noise.
Tickling the sleeping bear cub's belly while sipping, the innkeeper spoke to him.
"You've had a tough time, warrior."
"No big deal."
"But you're amazing. Never seen anyone drink like that in my life."
Attila had outdrunk even Munjuk, the Black Wolf Tribe's drinking champion.
'High stamina stat, maybe,' Attila mused.
"I heard you're joining the war with Aquitaine County. A warrior like you will surely claim great feats. Swing by again when you return. Drink like tonight—or more. Haha."
"How'd you know about the war?"
"From the village chief."
"He's still in jail."
"Oh. I visited him."
"Visits are banned."
The air shifted.
Attila fixed the innkeeper with an emotionless stare.
"Getting careless because I'm a savage?"
His lips twitched.
"Or testing me?"
The innkeeper's face drained of color, turning mask-like.
No emotion, like an inanimate object.
The object spoke.
"Who are you?"
"Finally showing your true colors."
One corner of Attila's mouth lifted.
"Hassasin's 2nd-grade assassin. Rashid."
Before the words finished.
The innkeeper—Rashid—blurred, and a dagger pressed against Attila's throat.
A voice came from behind.
"What are you? Really from the western savage tribes?"
"Who knows. Half right, maybe."
Attila calmly downed his drink.
"How'd you know about me?"
"Don't feel like saying."
"I can put a hole in your throat right now."
"With just the hilt?"
Attila waved his left hand over his shoulder.
A cleanly snapped blade shard gleamed between his fingers. Rashid's eyes widened.
"When?!"
Rashid reached for another dagger but couldn't.
Attila had risen and gripped his wrist.
"Guh...!"
Rashid's face twisted in agony from the iron grip.
He considered a hidden weapon with his free hand but abandoned it.
In blood-soaked battlefields, his sharp senses and judgment had kept him alive.
'I have to admit it.'
He couldn't beat this savage.
"I'm not here to do anything to you. I have two requests."
"Requests? Hilarious. What if I refuse?"
"Your neck snaps."
"...Speak."
Attila loosened his grip, and Rashid's face returned to its blank mask.
"First, lend me one of your daggers."
"A dagger?"
"Yeah. Can't find one that suits me."
Hassasin weapons, from the continent's top assassin guild, were high-quality—even if not quite dwarf-level.
"...Fine. What's the second?"
Feeling an inexplicable unease, Rashid asked.
Attila, wearing a meaningful smile, opened his mouth.