Please support the translation by reading the translation and commenting on otakutl official site.
Thank you.
Everyone from Otaku Translation
Previous | TOC | Next |
Chapter 3: Freya’s Knights
“Are you saying that you have a way to bypass Madara’s attention?”
After a brief silence, Retto spoke up with an unmistakable tone of skepticism.
Freya quickly nodded but then froze as she noticed the distrustful expressions on everyone’s faces. Her heart tightened, and she instinctively gripped her sword tighter—her knuckles whitening as if trying to channel her anxiety into the hilt.
“Freya is a militiaman from Buchi,” Su suddenly interjected, breaking the tension. “One of her friends predicted that Ridenburg would fall tonight. None of us believed it before now—not even me—but here we are, staring at the truth. I think there’s some merit to what Freya is saying.”
Everyone turned in surprise, including Freya herself, who glanced at the girl with sun-kissed skin and braided hair. She offered Su a grateful look.
“I… actually don’t have a way to get around Madara’s notice,” Freya admitted after a moment, speaking candidly to the mercenaries gathered. Her words caught them off guard. “But I know someone who might.”
“So you’re not even sure?” one man asked skeptically.
Freya nodded again.
She watched as several shoulders shrugged indifferently. These mercenaries hadn’t placed much hope in this young girl to begin with—they were mostly just humoring her for entertainment’s sake. After all, Freya wasn’t unpleasant company; quite the contrary, she was rather charming.
“Wait, everyone,” Freya said, gripping her longsword tightly against her chest as she tried to steady herself. Her voice grew brighter, clearer. “I realize how absurd it must sound for a stranger like me to ask for your trust right now. So let me reframe this—not as a certainty, but as a possibility…”
She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Think of it like… a gamble. A bet. I—I…”
The ponytailed girl stumbled over her own thoughts, frustrated by her inability to articulate herself properly. Maybe appealing to these battle-hardened mercenaries through gambling metaphors wasn’t such a great idea after all.
“It’s simple!” boomed a large mercenary named Mano, laughing heartily. “You’re opening a wager, and we’re placing our bets. Life or death, fortune or ruin—it’s all in the hands of fate! Well said, lass—I’m Mano, by the way. For those bold enough to take risks, count me in!”
His declaration drew amused chuckles from the crowd. Someone shouted, “Mano, you reckless gambler! One day, you’ll lose more than gold!”
Freya blushed but nodded eagerly. “That’s about the gist of it. If you find my proposal credible, why not see where it leads? Once you meet my friend, I’m sure you’ll make your decision. At least… at least I believe in him.”
A heavy silence fell among the mercenaries. Freya’s offer did hold a certain allure, especially with Su’s earlier endorsement backing her claim. And honestly, lingering indecisively here wouldn’t do them any good. They had nothing to lose—worst-case scenario, they could always walk away later.
Still, no one wanted to be the first to step forward. As the atmosphere cooled, Freya began to grow anxious.
“I believe in Freya,” Su declared firmly, stepping out first. She glanced back at her father, Retto, who scratched his head awkwardly. With his daughter taking sides so openly, he felt obligated to follow suit. “Well, isn’t this something,” he muttered under his breath. “They say daughters always side with outsiders—but couldn’t she at least bring home a decent suitor while she’s at it?”
The tavern owner sighed dramatically, eliciting laughter from the surrounding group.
“All right, all right,” Retto announced, raising his hands. “Stop laughing, will you? Since I’m going along with this, the rest of you might as well tag along too. Surely, you can spare my little girl some respect?”
“What a shameless move, Retto!” someone jeered.
“Using lass Su as a shield—unforgivable!”
“Absolutely disgraceful!”
Despite their teasing banter, the mercenaries tacitly agreed with Retto’s logic. Even the portly tavern keeper didn’t seem embarrassed, instead looking rather pleased with himself. When the final tally was taken, over twenty people remained—far more than Freya had anticipated. Many of them weren’t opposed to her plan; they simply didn’t want to appear weak by capitulating to a young girl.
“Well then, lass,” Retto said, crossing his arms and turning to face her. “We’re all here now. What exactly do you need from us?”
Mercenaries were practical folk. They understood that every privilege came with a price. To them, this was merely a transaction—if the terms made sense, they’d join; otherwise, they’d leave. Simple as that.
Unaware of their mindset, Freya felt a wave of nervousness wash over her. “My request is straightforward: survive and escape this place. If you’ve chosen to stay and trust me, I expect you to follow my commands without question. Otherwise, this agreement loses its meaning entirely. I know it may seem presumptuous, but I stand by it. If you can’t accept these terms, I won’t force you.”
“Fair enough,” the mercenaries replied nonchalantly. In theory, they agreed, though whether they’d obey suicidal orders remained to be seen. Still, agreeing verbally cost nothing.
“And what about you?” another voice piped up. “What can you contribute?”
Freya paused thoughtfully. “I can fight alongside you. On the battlefield, we’ll be comrades-in-arms. That bond doesn’t change based on our agreement.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Mano chimed in, nodding approvingly. Several others followed suit. But not everyone stayed. By the end, seventeen individuals remained: Retto, Su, Mano and his three close companions, and a mix of lone wolves who figured safety lay in numbers. This turnout far exceeded Freya’s expectations. Even if only Su had stayed, she’d have considered it a stroke of luck. Now, it felt like a miracle within a miracle.
Their discussion was cut short when news of Madara’s army entering the city spread from the west. The streets erupted into chaos. Retto quickly ushered everyone inside the tavern to gather supplies—better to stock up now before panic consumed the populace entirely.
This pragmatic approach highlighted the difference between seasoned mercenaries and amateur militiamen like Freya. Veterans always prioritized logistics above all else.
“So, Commander Freya,” Mano teased, grinning. “What’s next?”
“Don’t call me ‘commander,’” Freya replied, her cheeks flushing red. Her earlier speech had left her breathless. Reflecting on it now, she couldn’t believe she’d dared address such hardened warriors so boldly. It felt surreal—as though she were dreaming.
Yet deep down, a quiet voice urged her onward. She could help Brandon. She refused to be a burden. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Freya gazed absently at the fiery glow emanating from the western gate. Then, remembering something, she turned to ask, “Do any of you know how to ride horses?”
“Of course! How could we not?”
“Then we’re stealing horses later,” Freya stated matter-of-factly.
“Stealing horses?”
…….
“Stealing horses?” the young princess twirled a silver spoon curiously.
“There’s a livestock market in Ridenburg where nobles trade warhorses—and sometimes servants and slaves. It’s common knowledge. In fact, I learned of it during my travels to Buchi,” Orville explained.
“What audacity,” the princess remarked coolly, setting down her teacup.
“But how did she know about it?” she pressed further.
“It ties back to her origins. Our men left her—a three-year-old child—at that very market years ago. While she may not remember events from before age three, the memory of that place likely stuck with her.”
“You abandoned a three-year-old girl alone in a foreign land?” the princess accused sharply.
“We had no choice. The turmoil back then affected countless lives—even Everton’s wife perished. Rest assured, we made meticulous arrangements for her care.”
“Does she know how to ride?”
“How could anyone from the Everton lineage not know? We entrusted her to an elite knight of the Silver Wing Legion. Why they relocated to remote Buchi remains a mystery.”
“Did she succeed?” Though she knew full well that Orville’s confirmation meant Freya had succeeded, the princess couldn’t help but press further with her question.
No matter how composed and mature she appeared on the surface, deep down, she was still just a young girl, her curiosity brimming with youthful eagerness.
Orville smirked knowingly. “Naturally. As I mentioned earlier, the nobles were distracted by that remarkable young man. The inner market lacked proper defenses, making it easy prey for Freya and her band of skilled mercenaries—who, mind you, rival the kingdom’s finest soldiers.”
The princess nodded thoughtfully. Unlike the degenerate second-tier legions like the White Mane or Black Blade Legions, Eruin’s premier forces—the Royal Guard, Silver Wing Legion, Sifah’s Eleventh Cavalry Regiment, and Anrico Flintlock Corps—still upheld their former glory. Their ordinary soldiers maintained combat prowess ranging from lower-tier iron-rank (3–7 oz) levels.
As for the standard legions? Since the Year of the Burrowing Beast, they’d devolved into little more than glorified noble militias.
Understanding dawned on the half-elf princess. She leaned forward slightly. “And then?”
“Ah, that’s where the story truly shines,” Orville said, his usually stoic demeanor brightening. “When Freya united with that extraordinary young man and carved a path of destruction through Madara’s forces—it was nothing short of legendary.”
“The extraordinary young man,” the princess murmured softly.
Orville coughed, realizing his slip of tongue. But the princess paid it no mind. Glancing at the time, she smiled faintly. “I still have a bit of time, Lord Orville. Please continue with the next chapter.”
“It would be my honor.”
If you would like to support this translation, you may choose any one of the options below.
How to find a list of chapters
Please find the chapter label next to your favorite translator's name, and click the label.
No comments:
Post a Comment