Morning Watch

*The next morning.*

“Time’s up. Everyone, get up.”

At the shout from Beard, who had taken the last watch, everyone groggily got to his or her feet.

The first and last watches were the “sweet spots” of guard duty. One of these was always reserved for the Captain. Even in a small organization, such perks were natural for a Captain.

Eight men were just enough to minimize fatigue accumulation. If there were fewer, Night Watch would quickly become a headache.

“Captain, I don’t see the Squire.”

“I don't know either. She was sleeping next to the Knight when I took over, but then she just vanished at some point.”

Men significantly older than the girl, who appeared to be in her late teens, consistently spoke to her with deference.

Her status as the Knight's Squire was the first reason; the Heavy Crossbow slung across her back was the second. Finally, her tall stature and the subtle aura of wildness she exuded, creating an intimidating presence, were the third.

“What? You missed her leaving from right nearby, not even coming in from outside? Were you even keeping proper watch?”

Owl, the Mercenary Group Vice-Captain and sole Archer, sneered.

“So what if I did see her? Should I have stopped the Squire and asked her why she was leaving? Stop spouting nonsense and get ready to move.”

Owl also used a nickname instead of his real name for personal reasons.

True to his nickname, Owl, he had excellent night vision and would often, as a former Hunter, catch squirrels or mountain birds to make Meat Stew during his travels.

He was an irreplaceable asset in both combat and non-combat situations, so Beard tolerated his occasional insolence.

Moreover, Homi returned a short while later, carrying two limp rabbits in her hands.

“Wow, just as expected!”

“Looks like we’ll finally get some meat soup.”

Two Rookie Mercenaries swallowed hard, their mouths watering. At the sight, Beard's eyebrows twitched.

“Hey, you idiots. The Knight isn't even thinking about it, so what are you fantasizing about? Shut up and chew on your hardtack.”

Owl raised his fist and punched the two simpletons.

Beard nodded in satisfaction. Indeed, having an ill-tempered Veteran made managing the troops easier.

“Ow, why’d you hit me? They shared good stuff yesterday, so we can hope, can’t we?”

“Shut up.”

The grumbling Rookie immediately fell silent.

*Meanwhile, Homi skillfully skinned the rabbits and was preparing to skewer them for roasting.*

At that sight, the Rookies gave up their lingering hopes. If only two rabbits were being roasted, there wouldn't be anything left for them.

Owl, who had been watching with a “just as I thought” attitude, glared at them.

“You fools. The person we're dealing with isn't a Commoner, nor is he just another Mercenary or Adventurer. He's a Noble Knight.”

“So?”

Owl sighed. The Rookies, ignorant of the world and fearless, seemed not to understand.

“If they curse you, immediately prostrate yourself and beg for forgiveness. If they praise you, fawn over them as if you'd rip out your liver and guts for them. If they hand you moldy bread, eat it with tears of gratitude. And never, *ever* ask them for anything. No, don't even speak to them first! Don't even look at them unnecessarily! This is how you deal with Nobles. Understand?”

“D-do we really have to go that far?”

Another rookie next to him glanced sideways at Eugene.

His warm smile as he stroked Homi's head was like that of a Cleric.

Though his sturdy physique, charisma, and equipment instantly identified him, proclaiming, “*This man is a Knight!*”

“Do you think I’d be speaking so subserviently if I were some spineless idiot?” “No.” “Certainly not.”

The two Rookies shook their heads.

That was because they had once seen Owl fight a small Mountain Bandit Group.

The way he cruelly tortured one of the surrendered men made their knees tremble, even though they were on the same side.

After seeing a hunter's skinning technique applied to a human, the observer couldn't eat anything for the rest of the day.

Naturally, the Veteran Soldiers approved. The harsher the discipline in a Mercenary Group, the higher its survival rate.

“Any other questions?”

“None!”

“Good.”

But a moment later, Owl felt embarrassed.

Homi was standing there, smiling, holding a pot of rabbit stew.

The rabbits weren't roasted for eating; they were roasted to extract fat for weapon maintenance.

There was no guarantee of acquiring maintenance supplies on time, so they had to make the most of what they could procure locally.

“Beard.”

“Yes, Sir Knight!”

At Eugene's call, Beard, who had been sitting, sprang to his feet.

Eugene's stature was such that even the large Beard had to look up at him, and he was exceptionally well-equipped even for a Knight. On top of that, he was the Successor to the Knight of Prophecy and the city's Invitee.

Even Beard, who usually swaggered in front of his subordinates, had to stay sharp.

“I'm making Meat Stew; could you add some potatoes? Since we're making it, let's make it properly and share it among everyone. We have our own salt, so that's fine.”

Moreover, being around this Sir Knight always seemed to bring some unexpected benefits.

“Oh, Sir Knight, I don't know how to express my gratitude for your generosity! Even my own mother wasn't as kind to me as you are. It seems fortune has finally smiled upon me in my twilight years as a mercenary.”

The middle-aged man with the bushy beard rubbed his hands together, beaming.

Owl pointed at the scene with his finger.

“See that? That’s how you treat a Knight.”

“Wow.”

“C-Captain Beard is acting like that.”

A vein throbbed on Beard's forehead at those words. *As if anyone would do this willingly.*

* * *

The party, now grown to eleven, resumed its march.

Eugene and Sorin rode their horses, conversing in the center. Homi and Owl, with their keen senses, scouted ahead.

Sway, sway.

“Hmm.”

“Mmm.”

The Mercenaries didn't show it, but Homi's tail brought them joy.

After I had been surrounded by only sweaty men, the addition of a beautiful woman made it feel as if a floral scent filled the air.

And with her thick, long white tail swaying alluringly, she was a pleasant sight.

They had seen Beastfolk many times during their mercenary lives, but a tail like Homi's was new to them.

It looked far softer and more supple than the fox fur worn by a Lady they had seen in some territory.

Sway, sway.

“Ahem.”

They couldn't stare openly, so they shifted their gaze, pretending to keep All-around Vigilance, while Eugene, unaware of their true intentions, was impressed.

“They are truly well-disciplined. Marching can be tedious, yet they are all quiet and maintain such thorough All-around Vigilance. Your eye for recognizing such a Mercenary Group is truly remarkable.”

“Hahaha. I'm pleased to hear you say that, Sir Knight. The Beard Mercenary Band is quite well-known in Boneyard.”

Sorin also assumed the Mercenaries were tense because of the Knight, never imagining it was due to the tail.

The Mercenaries, feeling unnecessarily exposed, became even more alert.

As one looked around, a beautiful forest stretched out along the narrow dirt path. It was unlike the gloomy forest west of Kingdom's End.

“But is this level of escort truly necessary? Around here, at most, there might be a few wild dogs, or if you're unlucky, one or two stray wolves.”

It had fundamentally been a peaceful village for decades. Even the Merchants who visited occasionally came with small entourages.

“To escort Sir Godfrey, we must maintain this level of formality. Originally, a Contracted Knight from the city was also supposed to be included, but he's currently deployed elsewhere.”

It must be for the reason mentioned yesterday: the city's surroundings had become turbulent due to the threat from the Gord Nobles.

“Deployed? Did he go to subdue some bandits?”

If he works for Boneyard, he must be a Free Knight without a Liege Lord. Since Eugene accepted the invitation, this could be a glimpse into his own future, sparking his curiosity.

“No. As far as I know, he went to the Roman Kingdom to escort an Envoy. I am merely a Low-ranking Official, so I don't know the full details.”

“If a Knight is deployed with an envoy, they must be exchanging quite important messages.”

The Roman Kingdom was a powerful nation in the center of the Continent. All nations claimed to be descendants of the Ancient Kingdom, but the Romans prided themselves on being the true inheritors.

Not only their national power but also their direct inheritance of the old capital of the Ancient Kingdom.

Knowing that dwelling on the topic wouldn't be beneficial, Sorin changed the subject.

“Sir Eugene, your Squire is truly exceptional. She possesses both the virtues of taciturnity and diligence, assisting you so well.”

Was he curious about Homi, who hadn't uttered a single word? His underlying intention, disguised as praise, was obvious.

But Eugene feigned the naive delight of a knight.

“Thank you for your kind words. However, Homi is unable to speak by birth.”

“Oh dear! I spoke without thinking, saying something unnecessary.”

“It's all right. It must seem strange for a Squire to be so quiet.”

A Squire is not merely a Servant. Besides managing weapons and armor, a Squire is also a comrade who fights alongside the Knight.

They also served as heralds, praising their Knight's achievements and showcasing them to others.

Naturally, being unable to speak would cause immense inconvenience.

“Nevertheless, I can assure you there is no finer Squire than Homi. I don't know how long my life as a Knight will continue, but she is the child I wish to have by my side until the very end.”

Homi's white tail shot up with a *thump!* as if to make a sound, then settled down. Naturally, everyone in the party pretended not to notice.

Just then, Homi, who was walking at the front, suddenly drew her crossbow and aimed it. Owl also nocked an arrow to his short bow.

“What is it?”

“Well, I’m not sure myself...”

Owl hesitated at Beard's question. He hadn't drawn his bow because he'd seen something, but simply because he was following Homi's lead.

Screech.

But when Eugene drew his sword, everyone instinctively prepared for battle.

Soon, the bushes to their right shook violently, and a large, grey-furred beast burst out.

“It’s a wolf!”

“Just our luck.”

The Mercenaries skillfully formed a defensive line. In their mercenary lives, wolves were as common a sight as wild dogs.

However, these creatures usually knew that armed humans were dangerous and mostly observed from a distance. But the two wolves that appeared now charged directly at the party.

While Owl, with his short bow, waited for them to enter range, Homi had already pulled the trigger.

CRACK—!

The wolf, with a bolt deeply embedded in its crown, spewed foamy blood and collapsed.

*Excellent skill.*

Even if it was charging head-on, accurately piercing a beast's vital spot was no easy feat. The destructive power, befitting the crossbow's size, was brutal.

The remaining one flinched for a moment but continued to charge.

*Come on, you son of a bitch.*

Owl fixed his hand on the bowstring, glaring at the wolf.

Even if he was the Squire, Owl had the pride of a Hunter and Mercenary.

He intended to deal with this one himself.

The moment it entered range, Owl released the bowstring.

Yelp—!

But perhaps having witnessed its companion's death, the creature quickly darted sideways.

The arrow missed, grazing its fur by a hair's breadth.

“Damn it!”

WHIZZ!

Owl's curse was drowned out by the sound of a second bolt flying.

HOWL—!

The wolf collapsed, a bolt having pierced it diagonally from its left shoulder.

For a few seconds, it tried to get up and flee, but then it vomited a mouthful of blood and fell. The tip of the bolt had pierced its heart.

How much time had passed since the first shot?

Certainly, Owl's senses hadn't registered Homi bending down to reload.

“Impossible.”

He looked beside him to see Homi, standing, reloading a third bolt by drawing the crossbow string with only the strength of her fingers.

Just then, a massive howl echoed. It would sound similar if you took a wolf's howl, lowered it to a bass register, and added the sound of phlegm rattling.

“Damn it! It’s a Warg!”

Beard roared.

“A Warg? What’s that?”

“No wonder those wolves were charging so fearlessly.”

“Everyone, stay sharp!”

The bewildered Rookies and the grim-faced Veterans.

A Warg.

Eugene had also heard that name from Godfrey.

-Wild wolves are only big in size; they're actually quite cowardly. Mercenaries don't fear them much. Wolves are sensitive to the smell of iron, you see.

-So they're afraid of getting stabbed, then.

-Exactly. They won't show themselves during the day, and even at night, they'll just observe from a distance before eventually retreating. But if they charge like rabid dogs, be careful. It means there's a Warg behind them.

If a Werewolf is weaker but possesses intelligence and is treated as a Demi-human, then a Warg is a monster that has abandoned intelligence in exchange for greater power.

It resembles a wolf but is more than twice its size, and it switches between bipedal and quadrupedal movement, employing a variety of attacks.

-A Warg lives a solitary, wandering life, but when mating season arrives, it seeks out nearby wolf packs and attacks them. It kills and devours the alpha, then claims all the female wolves. After sowing its seed, it calmly departs.

-That's a truly *beastly* creature, then. So, a lot of Warg pups are born?

-Hardly! If that were the case, several nations would have been shaken. Reproduction between Wargs and wolves is impossible. It's merely about slaughter and satisfying urges.

-Is there anything else I should know about them?

-Sometimes, even after sowing its seed, it stays put. That's to mobilize the wolves when there's tempting prey nearby. They're far more dangerous than most Mountain Bandit Groups, so be careful.

Eugene faithfully followed his Master's teachings. He sheathed his sword, took out his flail, and stepped forward.

Clank.

“Whoa!”

One Mercenary jumped in surprise. His flail, as thick as his forearm, had swung past his face, dangling from a chain.

The Mercenary's expression quickly turned to relief.

A Knight was advancing, wielding a clearly formidable polearm with one hand! There could be no more reassuring presence in front of a Warg.

The bushes rustled violently, and more than ten wolves burst out. This Warg seemed to have integrated about two packs.

“It’s either death or unconsciousness! We just have to trust the Sir Knight and go!”

In response to Beard's roar, the Mercenaries let out a cheer.