Chapter 46 : Take Off the Helmet
Chapter 46: Take Off the Helmet
Calimacos spun the longsword in his hands in a wide, graceful arc.
It was the same stance he had taken when he’d sliced apart the bandit leader, Ralph.
Showing the motion that preceded a great technique, Calimacos murmured quietly.
“A man who’s lived a life worth less than a pebble on the street. He has endured scornful gazes and perfected his wrath.”
Robin remembered that chant—he wasn’t sure if it was a poem or an incantation.
He had said something similar back then too.
“To the shadow of the past, ruthlessness. To the indomitable will, exultation.”
Calimacos crossed both arms.
Though he swung his sword into empty air, Robin and the other mercenaries saw it.
The invisible current that sliced through the wind.
It wasn’t glasslike, for there was no boundary in the air; nor was it flowing water, for its shape was too indistinct.
The mercenaries fell silent before the wondrous sight.
The two streaks of force that extended from his sword reached the trees at the edge of the clearing, leaving crossed diagonal marks across their trunks.
“You…”
Paul seemed struck dumb, as if hit over the head with a hammer.
The others were no different.
Robin wondered if what he had just seen was magic.
“You saw that? Don’t go running your mouth about it anywhere.”
“Captain, that was amazing!”
Robin tried to mimic the stance Calimacos had just shown, but failed to leave even a scratch on the distant tree.
“This kid Robin—he’s trying to copy it after seeing it just once.”
“It’s not once. It’s my second time.”
Same difference.
Paul looked at Calimacos and Robin alternately, as if fed up.
Torgen, Mirian, and Felix reflected on what they had just witnessed with solemn expressions.
The atmosphere grew heavy.
“It’s similar to killing intent, but not the same. If I had to put it into words, I’d say it carries ‘grudge’ instead.”
It was a difficult concept for Robin to grasp.
Embedding pent-up emotions into one’s sword—could such a thing even be possible?
“I think I get the gist.”
Mirian rose from her seat and drew her curved sword.
The red-hued blade, like her crimson hair, began to dance.
Everyone was taken aback by Mirian’s sudden display of swordsmanship.
After a flurry of swings, beads of sweat dotted her forehead, and only then did she sheath her sword.
No phenomenon like Calimacos’s had occurred.
“What was that? Why’re you making a fuss by yourself?”
“Hmph. You wouldn’t understand since you can’t use killing intent. Just you wait, Captain. I’m going to master that technique too.”
When Torgen rebuked her, Mirian smirked, lifting one corner of her mouth.
It wasn’t a sparring match or a real fight—she had simply moved the sword on her own. Thus, her movements were slow.
And because of that, Robin could see it. No, he could feel it.
The air shifted—ever so faintly. It was different from killing intent.
‘So this really is possible.’
Robin’s world was shaken.
It felt as if everything he’d believed to be common sense had been overturned.
Not that it was unpleasant.
It was as though he had found the clue to surpassing a wall he hadn’t even known existed.
‘If I can use the Captain’s power and aura at the same time…’
“So, did that clear up your curiosity?”
“No. It actually made things more confusing. But that’s fine. I’ll be able to use it myself someday.”
Satisfied with that confident answer, Calimacos smiled.
If it were Robin, he would undoubtedly surpass him one day.
He didn’t regret showing his skill.
But there was one man whose expression couldn’t be seen beneath his helmet, and he lingered in Calimacos’s mind.
‘I’ll have to talk to that Brandok fellow later.’
As Calimacos looked toward Brandok, the cold iron helmet shifted slightly.
Their eyes met, but when Robin spoke up, Calimacos turned his head away.
“I’ve got more questions. That chant you were reciting just now—what was it? And why do you dislike knights so much?”
“You beat me once in a duel, so I owe you one answer. If you want that answer, challenge me again. It won’t be as easy as last time.”
“Tch. Stingy.”
The only reason Robin had managed to defeat Calimacos before was because of a trick that flipped his own fighting style upside down.
Naturally, that method would no longer work.
No matter how much he pestered Calimacos, he wasn’t going to get an answer.
He glanced at Mirian, but she only shrugged, clearly unwilling to explain.
Paul, Torgen, Brandok, and Felix were the same.
The only one who could resolve Robin’s curiosity was Calimacos himself.
He tried dueling him several more times, but lost every single one.
“Do you really hate telling me that much?”
“Yeah.”
Calimacos’s curt reply was sharp enough to sting a little.
Accepting it as inevitable, Robin returned the borrowed sword.
Calimacos didn’t take it.
“You keep it. It’s a gift.”
“Huh? You’re giving me the sword? It must be expensive.”
“If it weren’t for you, our mercenary band might’ve been wiped out. We all chipped in for it, so just take it.”
It was an ordinary longsword, but Robin was deeply moved.
Normally, a ten-year-old carrying a sword was unheard of.
Weapons like swords and spears were usually reserved for adults.
Robin felt as if the mercenaries had acknowledged him as one of them—a grown man.
“Thank you. I’ll use it well.”
Robin met each mercenary’s eyes and bowed deeply.
Watching him with satisfaction, Calimacos spoke.
“Then let’s go enjoy a farewell feast before we part ways.”
A small party was held on the first floor of the Winged Chicken Inn.
Just like the day the Calimacos Mercenary Band had safely arrived in Regiville, the table was laden with food until its legs bent under the weight.
As the toasts continued and the atmosphere grew merry, Robin brought out the gifts he had prepared.
“I picked out these bracelets from the market whenever I had a little time.”
Robin held up six bracelets of various designs.
“What, you want us to wear these?”
“Yes. I chose them very carefully. For some reason, they just caught my eye.”
“Hmm. This one’s not really my style.”
At Torgen’s blunt remark, Mirian smacked him on the back of the head.
Pressing his face down onto his plate, she thanked Robin instead.
“Our little sweetheart bought us these gifts, so of course we should wear them. Nobody has any objections, right?”
“……”
Mirian spoke with a smile, but the other mercenaries couldn’t bring themselves to laugh.
As if to set an example, Mirian fastened the bracelet around her wrist, prompting the others to follow one by one.
“I can’t quite explain it, but these bracelets seem to have a mysterious energy. I think something good will happen if we wear them.”
“Robin, I never thought I’d hear something that sounds like a sales pitch from you.”
“A sales pitch? Come on, you can tell these aren’t ordinary bracelets at a glance!”
Indeed, they weren’t ordinary.
The bracelets, strung with large stones or crafted from unknown leather, didn’t suit human attire at all.
They might have looked more fitting on a monster like an orc or a troll.
“I like mine! I’ll wear it all the time. Thanks, little brother.”
Mirian’s bracelet was, at least, the most normal-looking one.
“Well, it’s not bad. You’d think it’d feel heavy, but it’s surprisingly light.”
Paul also seemed to like his.
Despite their appearance, the bracelets didn’t feel cumbersome.
Once he put it on, he even felt a curious sense of refreshment.
“It’s a precious gift. Thank you kindly, Robin.”
Brandok bowed his head.
Robin felt a warm swell of pride at the gesture of recognition.
“Thank you, everyone, for everything. I won’t forget this kindness.”
“Oh, you’d better not. Make sure you repay us properly down the line.”
Calimacos replied with a cheerful laugh.
The other mercenaries offered parting words mixed with good wishes.
It would be a lie to say there was no sadness, but they had all prepared themselves for this farewell.
‘It’s fine. This isn’t the end. I’ll see them again someday.’
The mercenaries drank one toast after another, reminiscing about their adventures with Robin as they went.
When Robin, curious about the taste, took a sip from Mirian’s cup and immediately grimaced, the mercenaries burst into laughter.
Except for Robin, who stuck to milk, the rest gradually grew tipsy.
“Excuse me for a moment.”
Brandok rose from his seat.
“I’ll come with you. Need to stretch my legs anyway.”
“Let me help you.”
With his face flushed red, Calimacos threw an arm over Brandok’s shoulder.
Thunk.
A dark, steel-colored scabbard brushed against Robin’s leg.
For an instant, time slowed around him.
‘I remember that sword.’
Why had he only just realized it now?
He stared blankly at the door through which Calimacos and Brandok had exited.
“Mirian, you damn woman! You can’t do that to meee!”
“What nonsense are you babbling, you ox? Speak clearly!”
“You two, take your lovers’ quarrel outside.”
While Torgen, Mirian, and Felix rambled drunkenly, Robin glanced at Paul.
Paul could hold his liquor well; he still looked steady.
“I’m going to the latrine.”
Paul nodded, and Robin stepped outside the inn.
Calimacos and Brandok were nowhere to be seen.
He went around to the back of the inn, where no one was about, and there they were—facing each other.
Robin crept closer, just enough to catch their voices.
Calimacos spoke clearly.
“A man who’s lived a life worth less than a pebble on the street. He has endured scornful gazes and perfected his wrath.”
Brandok stood silent, listening until Calimacos finished.
“To the shadow of the past, ruthlessness. To the indomitable will, exultation.”
“The Mercenary King’s grudge. A song that resonates with refined wrath.”
“Why did you teach it to me?”
“I only translated it. You were the one who comprehended its meaning. I can’t wield that kind of power.”
“‘Translated,’ huh. So my guess was right.”
Robin had no idea what they were talking about.
Then came Calimacos’s shocking words.
“You’re not human, are you?”
“……”
“A worshipper of the Demon Tribe, then? No, that’s not the right question.”
Robin clamped both hands over his mouth.
He’d nearly gasped aloud in shock.
“Answer me, Brandok. Are you a demon?”
“Hahaha…”
Brandok let out a hollow laugh.
His helmet obscured his face, but the laughter was faint—devoid of strength.
“I am not.”
“Really? Then what are you? You told me about an indecipherable text, yet you came out of that bandit den without a scratch. Were you even affected by the Sleepweed? The others had small wounds, but not you.”
“First—there is no such thing as an indecipherable text. Second—I did fall asleep when the bandits captured us.”
“Sure, sure. Maybe I just ran into something I couldn’t read; I’m no scholar. Maybe the bandits went easy on you by chance. But here’s the thing.”
Calimacos’s eyes narrowed.
His hand moved subtly toward his sword hilt.
“You smell like the Demon Tribe.”
Tap. Tap.
His fingers brushed the sword.
A blatant threat.
“When you’d just escaped from those damned bandits, I could’ve dismissed it. But even now, in Regiville, that stench hasn’t faded?”
Despite the hostility in Calimacos’s tone, Brandok remained calm, raising both hands.
“I am neither a worshipper nor a member of the Demon Tribe. I don’t even know what their ‘scent’ is supposed to be. Please, withdraw your suspicion.”
“Take off the helmet.”
“I can’t. I’ve sworn not to.”
“Hm, the simplest way, yet you refuse? That just makes you even more suspicious.”
Robin swallowed hard.
Calimacos had drawn his sword about one-third of the way out.
Brandok still made no threatening move, but if this continued, a fight was inevitable.
“There are two kinds of beings I’ll kill without hesitation. One of them is the Demon Tribe. I’ll say it again—take off the helmet.”
Brandok stood silently, hands still raised.
“Fine. I’ll just beat you until you’re dead, then. How’s that?”
Shrrk.
Calimacos’s sword slid free.
It was the same sword he’d used in his duel with Robin—
The very blade Burt had gotten from the orphanage head, Timmy.