Chapter 277. Like a Pirate (2)

In the royal palace of the Neon Kingdom, Nelson—the Mercenary King who had dragged every last royal to the gallows for the crime of war—sat upon the throne and gazed down at his gathered ministers.

"So," Nelson said, his voice laced with derision, "Anyone got a problem with a no-name mercenary sitting in this seat? Speak now, and I'll be happy to remove that little problem myself."

Not a soul dared to answer. The palace had already seen too much blood. One terrifying purge after another had left the survivors too cowed to do anything but bow their heads and await orders.

Nelson nodded, pleased. Upon his head rested a crown adorned with gleaming jewels—an absurd sight for a man who had once worn chains.

"This is why life is so funny," Nelson said, chuckling to himself. "A low-born slave rises to become king of a nation. Quite the tale, don't you think?"

No one replied.

Nelson laughed, deep and hard, remembering the days of his youth.

This kingdom—Neon—had been his homeland. But as the son of slaves, he too had been born into slavery. Refusing to spend his life in chains, he had escaped and become a mercenary. That had been the beginning.

Battlefield after battlefield had hardened him. He grew stronger, savvier, and more dangerous. Even the very kingdom that once enslaved him had come crawling back, asking for his help.

Now, decades after his escape, that same slave had marched into the royal palace and beheaded every last noble and royal in it.

"This is how it should've been from the beginning," Nelson muttered. "A rotten kingdom needs to be rebuilt from the ground up."

The long war between the southern kingdoms had drained their power—and opened up opportunity. While others lost, Nelson gained.

He traced a finger along the blade resting beside him and glanced at the foreign minister groveling at the foot of the throne.

"So, where's the Pirate Queen now?" Nelson asked quietly.

"...She has docked in Oros and is on her way to the capital, Your Majesty," the foreign minister answered.

"Pirates and mercenaries," Nelson scoffed. "The same riffraff you all once turned your noses up at are now running the country. Any complaints?"

"...None, Your Majesty."

The nobles present could do nothing but bite their lips in silence. It was a humiliation of the highest order. Their proud, ancient palace had been seized by a mere mercenary—worse, a former slave.

And yet, there was nothing they could do. That mercenary now stood at the pinnacle of power, a warrior who had reached the limit of 8-Star mastery. He was the face of the mercenary world, a man with no equal.

More than that, Nelson had taken their families hostage. Fear was a far more effective leash than gold or honor.

"If any of you feel too noble to swear loyalty," Nelson said coldly, "then feel free to say so. I'll have you and your families hanged together."

The nobles flinched.

Nelson's massive army of mercenaries had already occupied the capital and were running rampant through the streets. The once-proud Royal Knights of the Neon Kingdom had all been butchered under Nelson's orders.

The only survivors were those who had sworn loyalty to the usurper on the throne.

"I like this," Nelson said with a grin. "All of you groveling with your heads down—it suits you."

He rose slightly, still resting one arm lazily on the throne as he explained, "Once I've sealed an alliance with the Queen's pirate fleet, I'll strike the southern border of the Zion Kingdom. With her strength added to mine, no war-weary kingdom will be able to resist us."

The wars among the southern kingdoms had made mercenaries more powerful than ever. Desperate for manpower, the kingdoms had hired them in droves—and those mercenaries had grown stronger through countless battles.

Nelson had taken those hardened warriors and forged them into an unprecedented force—the Nelson Mercenary Corps. They were the core of his rise to power.

"For this weak kingdom to survive," Nelson said, "There's only one path. Grow strong—no matter the cost—and crush the other kingdoms into submission."

It was just the beginning. His vision was of a massive empire, one that would absorb every last southern kingdom into its fold.

The Orias Empire was politically unstable now, reeling from a change in emperor. If Nelson conquered the southern region quickly and built up overwhelming strength, even the empire wouldn't be able to move carelessly.

"Everyone, get out of my sight," Nelson said as he dismissed the ministers with a wave of his hand.

Soon after, a figure emerged from the shadows—a man clad in a black robe. He rasped, "You look radiant, Your Majesty."

His voice was twisted and unnatural. A foul aura clung to him, thick with dark mana.

Nelson's lips curled into a smile as he said, "There's no thrill quite like crushing the people who used to look down on you."

"Heh. I couldn't agree more," the man replied.

"Is the work proceeding smoothly?" Nelson asked.

"Thanks to Your Majesty's generous support—more than smoothly. The abundance of corpses has been especially helpful for speeding up production," the man answered.

"Make sure the world understands why I allied with your kind," Nelson said.

"Didn't we prove that already?" the dark mage replied. "Replacing the Neon Kingdom's elite with our creations wasn't proof enough?"

"Do you really think I'd be satisfied with a tiny patch of land like this?" Nelson asked.

He took a slow swig of whiskey—top-shelf, taken straight from the murdered king's own bedchamber. Perhaps that was why it still tasted faintly of blood.

"The Pajar Sultanate and the empire must intervene as late as possible," Nelson said.

"Do not worry, Your Majesty. My brethren have already begun raising forces in the northern reaches of the continent. The Free City Union will soon see the appearance of hundreds of thousands of undead," the dark mage reassured him.

"A diversion," Nelson said, nodding. "That's a fine tactic."

Nelson didn't care that he was working with dark mages. In the world of mercenaries, power was the only currency that mattered.

Only fools spoke of morality on a battlefield. The dead were simply weak. The survivors were strong.

"But Your Majesty," the dark mage added, "Shouldn't you be cautious of the Queen? She has a close relationship with the Ducal Family of Leston."

"That's only because you don't know her," Nelson said with a laugh. "The Queen moves only for profit. If we offer her more than the Lestons can, she'll take our side without a second thought."

The Queen was a woman of pure pragmatism.

"A pirate chases money. That's what they do. Still, we'll prepare for every possibility," Nelson said.

He had a long-standing connection with the Queen. If anyone could smell where the profit lay, it was her.

"You just focus on your work," Nelson continued. "The more powerful your undead become, the more options we'll have."

"I understand, Your Majesty," the dark mage said.

"If you ever run low on corpses or materials, say the word. I'll get you as many as you need," Nelson said.

"You have my eternal gratitude, Your Majesty," the dark mage replied.

Nelson leaned back into his throne and let out a slow, contented laugh.

Everything was falling into place.

At least—for now.

***

"So that's the village they call Loki, huh?" Caron muttered.

Atop a rugged mountain overlooking a modest village, a rough-looking pirate stared down at the scene below. Behind him, the rest of the crew stood in formation, their weapons in hand and cheeks flushed with anticipation.

"What do you think, Guillotine?" Caron asked casually, glancing over his shoulder.

Guillotine, whose blade had been altered to an unassuming white, replied in a dull voice.

"There's definitely a tunnel underneath. Can't you smell it? The stench of rotting corpses is thick in the air."

"The pirates probably don't bathe often enough—I must've gone nose-blind," Caron muttered. "I don't smell anything."

"There's at least a Death Knight or two down there. Maybe more,"

Guillotine warned.

Death Knights were elite undead, only craftable from the corpses of fallen knights. And the Neon Kingdom had no shortage of knightly corpses.

"Right. Nelson did say he slaughtered the entire Royal Knight Order," Caron said.

The fact that Nelson had killed knights who could've been left alive made sense now—he likely wanted their corpses for this very purpose.

Still, it didn't scare Caron in the slightest. He said with a smirk, "Looks like you'll get a feast for the first time in a while. Congratulations, Guillotine."

"Congratulations or not, just change me back already. What the hell is this ridiculous white color?"

Guillotine grumbled.

"Your dark blue glow stands out too much," Caron said.

"And you think white doesn't?"

Guillotine asked.

"Come on. Anyone who sees a dark blue blade immediately knows it's Caron Leston. You're too recognizable," Caron said.

As Caron's fame had grown, so had Guillotine's. That eerie dark blue sword had practically become his trademark.

"Caron," Leo called from behind.

Caron frowned and said, "Not Caron, it's Xenon. Xenon, the Sixth Hero. That's who I am right now. Leo, if you're going to play your role, play it properly. You're Urhan, remember?"

"Why do I always have to be Urhan?" Leo grumbled.

"Because your current face looks exactly like him. Right, Lilith?" Caron asked.

"And why am I named after some perverted demon?" Seria asked, clearly unimpressed.

"Because no one would suspect a Saintess to be named Lilith," Caron answered.

Seria had been rebranded as Lilith—a spectacular act of blasphemy. Still, she had already grown far too accustomed to Caron's antics.

"If I go to hell, I swear I will drag you down with me," she said, grinding her teeth.

"Pick a speech pattern already—formal or informal. Not both," Caron replied.

"I'll talk however I damn well please, you bastard," Seria said.

"You see what I mean? Lilith is just full of charm," Caron said with a grin as he gave her a thumbs-up. Then, he closed his eyes and shared his sight with Pluto, who had been dispatched earlier to scout the village.

"Hmm..." Caron remarked.

At first glance, it looked like an ordinary village. People were moving about, chatting in the square. But there was one strange detail. The village had an unusually large number of armed individuals.

They weren't regular soldiers, but fighters carrying all kinds of mismatched weapons. That kind of loose structure could only belong to mercenaries.

The dark mana is strong, too. I wonder where they're hiding the undead?

Caron thought.

Of course, there were no undead visible on the surface. Which meant the solution was delightfully simple.

"I guess I'll just turn the whole place upside down. Then they'll crawl out on their own," Caron said.

If the undead were hiding underground, all they had to do was set the place on fire. No need for anything fancy.

Caron gestured behind him and called out, "Ryan."

Ryan came trotting up at once, asking, "You called, Boss?"

"We're going to raid that village," Caron declared.

"They've got quite a few mercenaries down there..." Ryan said hesitantly.

"Are you scared?" Caron asked.

"Of course not. Our Mad Dog Pirate Crew is made up of the best elites under the Queen herself. Are we plundering the village?" Ryan replied.

"Exactly," Caron answered.

The word "plunder" made Ryan's eyes gleam. He asked, "Should we hit the villagers' homes too?"

"Anyone who touches a civilian dies by my hand first," Caron answered.

"Then it's not really plundering, is it?" Ryan asked.

"Real plundering is when you strip the strong of everything they have. Focus on the mercenaries. And I'm pretty sure there are dark mages in there too. Spread the word—anyone who brings me their artifacts gets a hefty reward," Caron replied.

"Real plundering... I learn something new every day, Boss," Ryan said.

Artifacts from mages could fetch life-changing sums. He knew this was more than enough to whip the rest of the crew into a frenzy.

"Everything you take down there is yours to keep," Caron said.

"R-Really?" Ryan asked.

"I don't lie about that sort of thing. I swear on my grandfather's name," Caron answered.

And that sealed it.

Ryan was the only member of the Mad Dog Pirate Crew who knew Caron's true identity. His grandfather was the legendary hero, Halo Leston; his name was known across the entire continent. There was no way Caron would lie using that name.

Ryan drew his sword immediately, then turned to bellow at the rest of the crew. "Boss says we're raiding the village! Listen up, you dumb bastards! Leave the civilians alone—but everything else? Fair game! Mercs and black mages? Their loot belongs to anyone who grabs it first! Get what you can!"

Pirates were simple creatures. Promise them treasure, and their morale shot through the roof.

Caron led the charge down the hill, his men trailing behind him like a pack of bloodthirsty wolves.

The village was surrounded by a tall wooden palisade. Mercenaries on watch spotted them quickly and sounded the alarm.

Daaaaaang! Daaaaaang!

Alarms rang out as a mercenary on a rampart shouted down at them. "Identify yourselves!"

"We're pirates," Caron replied.

"Pirates? What the hell are pirates doing in a backwater like this? Turn back now! This village is under the direct control of the Nelson Mercenary Corps! Do you think the Mercenary King will let this slide?!" the mercenary continued.

Caron smiled a slow, cruel smile, then raised Guillotine, pointing the blade straight at the shouting mercenary. He asked, "Why do you think a pirate would come to a village?"

"...What?" the mercenary replied.

"To plunder it, obviously," Caron answered.

A moment later...

Boom!

With a single swing, Caron's blade released a shockwave that shattered the palisade.

"Eat this, you mercenary bastards!" one of the pirates roared.

"Let's strike it rich, boys! Follow the Boss!" a pirate shouted.

"That one's mine!" another pirate added.

The Mad Dog Pirate Crew charged into the village like a storm of madness and steel.

And Caron—wearing the mask of a pirate—moved like a shark in water, right in his element.