Chapter 66

War Agency, Inc. A mercenary organization possessing operational capabilities more formidable than its clients.

However, building an organization of that scale doesn’t happen overnight. Therefore, the very first task to undertake was singular.

Purely to raise the reputation and value of the mercenary company itself.

The first employer was a noble seeking mercenaries for a territorial war.

Initially hesitant at the absurdly high commission fee, he soon gasped upon seeing the mercenaries’ representative.

“……!”

The legendary ‘Black Prince’ was there.

What on earth could be lacking in the life of the heir to the Saxon ducal house, destined to become a great prince, that he would choose to serve as a mere mercenary captain? It was incomprehensible. But it didn’t matter.

Spending this amount for a battle that determined the fate of the domain was not a single penny wasted.

Some time later.

The forces of two nobles engaged in a territorial war faced off atop the hills.

And there, too, was Dale, the mercenary captain of the Black Armor Company.

Not beneath the Saxon House’s raven emblem, but solely beneath the banner bearing the Black Armor Company’s black armor symbol. With a female knight wielding a greatsword in custom-made black armor serving as the banner bearer.

The Black Armor Company commanded the left flank of the formation. And facing them on the enemy’s right flank, the opposing noble’s elite cavalry unit aimed their lances.

And so, the battle commenced.

The enemy cavalry charged toward the heavily armored infantry holding defensive positions atop the rolling hills.

“Do not break your defensive formation under any circumstances!”

“Hold your positions!”

On the frozen ground of the Duchy of Saxony, it was time to show the results of sweat pouring down like rain. But it was precisely then.

“Barrett M98B, 8.58x70mm.”

Dale murmured flatly. The shadow cloak fluttered, beginning to mimic the shape of a firearm, its barrel opening its maw toward the charging enemy cavalry.

This was no mere projection of a formula Dale had shown before.

That day, devouring the magic power of a 6th-circle dark mage and generating black magic power that drew ever closer to the abyss──.

A definitive form of ‘Shadow Weapon,’ unlike anything seen before, was projected there.

《Shadow Rifle》.

Gripping the undeniably otherworldly weapon, he aimed the barrel through the ranks of heavily armored infantry. Without hesitation, he targeted the enemy cavalry commander’s helmet and pulled the trigger of the Shadow.

Bang!

“One.”

The sniper bullet struck true. The enemy cavalry commander, charging with burning resolve, toppled from his horse.

“What… what?!”

“The commander fell with a single shot…!”

“He… he was hit by an arrow?”

“That can’t be!”

Yet, the enemy’s right flank cavalry, unable to halt their charge, began to stir with great agitation.

“N-no way.”

A third-circle mage capable of intervening in disputes among lesser lords could never possess enough destructive power to pierce a knight’s heavy armor. That’s how it should have been.

“The Captain has struck down the enemy cavalry commander!”

“Huh? How? Was that magic?”

“I heard a 3rd-circle mage couldn’t pierce a knight’s armor!”

A gasp of near-disbelief erupted among the heavily armored infantry of the Black Armor Company.

“Reload.”

As the distance closed, the incantation was uttered once more.

The more clearly and concretely one visualizes the target’s image, the greater its destructive power becomes. It was incomparable to indiscriminately unleashing a hail of shadow bullets on the spot.

Distance, destructive force, accuracy—each parameter amplified nearly tenfold.

Even if Dale specialized in close-quarters combat, he hadn’t abandoned the mage’s advantage of maintaining distance.

Thwack!

“Two.”

Dale muttered as he pulled the trigger of the Shadow Rifle. Dark bullets slammed into the ground. With each impact, another charging cavalryman collapsed.

The helmet shattered, the skull cracked, the brain burst, and cerebrospinal fluid spattered. It was an instant death beyond doubt.

“Three.”

Thud!

Armored cavalrymen, shielded by their armor, could never comprehend the terror of a battlefield where bullets rained down. The terror of not knowing where death would strike. The terror of seeing a comrade beside you struck down instantly by a single bullet.

The very courage that was the lifeblood of a cavalry charge crumbled powerlessly before that terror.

“Four.”

To be blunt, the number of cavalrymen taken down by Dale’s bullets was insignificant. Just a few. But the terror stemming from those insignificant deaths was anything but.

Fear was spreading like a plague.

The distance closed, and the shape of emotion lurking beneath the cavalrymen’s helmets. The fear of death—that it might be their turn next—was spreading rapidly.

“Five.”

Bang!

Death’s baptism poured down equally. No matter how much one trained for battle, preparing for death, and honed their bravery, the unknown terror that summoned death was not something to be taken lightly.

After several rounds of skirmishes, the distance between the two sides narrowed.

However, overcome by the fear of death, the enemy cavalry charged too quickly at full gallop, causing their formation to scatter wildly.

The spears of the disorganized cavalry plunged toward the heavily armored infantry of the Black Armor Company. Yet what clung to the cavalrymen’s spearheads was not a decisive strike, but fear and dread spreading like a plague.

“For the Captain!”

Facing them, however, were a hundred heavily armored infantrymen whose morale was sky-high.

Among the heavy infantry, Sir Yones, who commanded them, raised his voice.

“For Black Armor Company!”

“We die where we stand!”

Black Armor Company roared their rallying cry. It was, quite literally, an unbreakable formation.

“In this world, it’s the bastard who knows how to use his chopsticks who wins.”

Dale muttered as if it were someone else’s business.

That night. A victory celebration was underway at Roosevelt Manor. To honor the heroics of Black Armor Company, the victors.

Wine, meat, women. Luxuries rarely enjoyed by mere mercenaries were laid out before them.

“You’re the real deal, Captain!”

“Who’d have thought I’d live to see the day I’d be treated like royalty in a castle!”

Holding a woman close, one mercenary boomed heartily, devouring the meat on the table with ravenous abandon. Could there be a greater paradise for mercenaries?

“You’ll see this sight often enough, so don’t get too carried away.”

Watching the scene, Dale added as if it were none of his concern.

“Oh my, it really is you, Prince Dale!”

“I heard about your father’s heroic deeds in today’s battle!”

“They say you single-handedly wiped out the enemy cavalry with your wit?”

Beside him, the young ladies of the Roosevelt family were desperately fawning over him.

“You look so handsome and dashing!”

“It was only possible because of my subordinates’ efforts.”

It was passion that spared no effort.

And no wonder—by her side stood the eldest son of a duke. As the daughter of a minor noble, she would never have had the chance to speak to him in a lifetime. It wasn’t that she favored Roosevelt’s daughters. It was simply how people navigated life in this world.

The difference between nobles and commoners, and indeed the gap between classes, was no exception even among the nobility themselves. But what difference would it make if it were the world of a past life? It would likely be the same in any world.

It was a world of utter bitterness.

The next morning.

When Lord Yones stumbled awake with a hangover, the young captain of their mercenary company sat before him.

“C-Captain!”

Last night’s revelry had turned the hall of Baron Roosevelt’s castle into a muddy mess. Lord Yones and all the mercenaries lay sprawled across the tables or sprawled face-down on the stone floor.

“Are you dogs or men?”

“I’ll wake up all the kids and assemble them immediately!”

Dale muttered as if it were someone else’s problem, just as Lord Yones was about to raise his voice urgently.

“No, it’s fine. They’ve lived long enough to enjoy this luxury. Let them sprawl out a bit longer.”

Dale shook his head quietly.

“I was waiting for you because I had business with you.”

“Me? You meant me?”

“Yeah.”

Dale nodded.

“After we return to the Duchy of Saxony, I plan to assign a few people to teach you.”

“Me? People to teach me?”

Lord Yones tilted his head at the unexpected words.

“In time, we will build a reputation surpassing what we have now. And as long as the eldest son of the Saxon family remains the head of this organization… based on that trust, the nobles will entrust us with their entire military forces and the execution of all operations.”

“I suppose so.”

An organization possessing greater operational capability than its employers. That was precisely the raison d’être of the Black Armor Company.

“But even if that’s true for now, who will lead this mercenary company and secure victory in war when I’m not here?”

“Well, that would be my responsibility as the commander, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s why you must learn. How to win battles, how to fight in any situation, where to fight. So that even without me, Black Armor Company can become an organization that guarantees ‘victory in war’.”

Dale continued.

“The moment you return, the Saxon nobles will keep you busy day and night. And don’t neglect your sword training under our knights.”

“……Why me?”

Upon hearing Dale’s words, Lord Yones asked again.

He knew full well the weight of the situation: a mere second son from a low-ranking noble family, entrusted to lead the military organization of a great noble he could scarcely even look up to.

“Because you happened to be there.”

A path to advancement, one even his father and brothers dared not tread, now lay before him.

“Is that truly all?”

“So you thought we were bound together by the thread of love?”

Dale answered as if it were someone else’s business. It was the same answer as back then.

“So it wasn’t me you didn’t care about? You didn’t care about anyone in that place?”

But Lord Yones asked again, and Dale answered.

“Who else could have been there but you?”

“Well…”

Lord Yones stopped mid-sentence, swallowing hard. He finally understood the true meaning behind Dale’s words.

When the Duke of Saxony summoned his nobles to confront the great migration of the demon race, Lord Yones was also present.

At sixteen, he left home to make a name for himself as a wandering knight, rising from the lowest ranks to become the captain of a hundred-strong mercenary band.

He believed that even those without could defeat those with. That was why he challenged Saxony’s ‘Black Prince’—and was defeated. Yet, that very defeat was the reason Lord Yones could stand where he did.

“Captain… no, Prince Dale.”

Lord Yones, understanding the meaning behind Dale’s words, quietly knelt. Bowing his head in an indescribable loyalty.

“Yones of the Black Armor Company, second-in-command to Kenneth. I will never disappoint Lord Dale.”