Badlands Saga: Reincarnation in a Different World with Extreme Charisma - Chapter 6

Chapter 6   The Wanderer 5

The contract to buy food with potions meant that I had to mass-produce potions.

While I could purchase some of the necessary ingredients, I hesitated to source everything from merchants.

Basic potion recipes are widely available, but the techniques to fine-tune them for enhanced effects or longer shelf life are the personal assets of each alchemist.

The reason the merchants are currently willing to pay a relatively high price for my potions is simply because my unique recipe modifications are still unknown to anyone else.

Eventually, they’ll figure it out and start buying cheaply, but I want to extend the period where I can sell at a high price for as long as possible.

To that end, I had come to the Karakan Mountains to gather materials, accompanied by a dozen or so knights as guards.

“Couldn’t you have just sent someone else to collect these?”

While walking along the lower slopes of the mountain, which was much greener compared to the barren wilderness, Isara grumbled.

This area had proper paths, as people came here to cut wood.

“If someone else came, they wouldn’t know what’s growing or what it could be used for.”

“I don’t know much about alchemy, but don’t normal people usually decide what they want to make first and then gather materials?”

“You don’t get it. An alchemist can just look at something and intuitively know what they can make with it or its potential effects.”

“That’s just you, Fusha-sama.”

I don’t think so.

Alchemy is simple enough that even a kid from a remote area could make potions just by reading a book, as long as they have the talent.

If I can manage with just intuition and local materials in a border, then surely alchemists in the port cities, where a variety of ingredients are available, must be making elixirs rather than just water-based potions.

“Oh, this herb looks good. I have a feeling it could be used in some kind of face lotion.”

“Please stop making potions based on just a feeling!”

As I kept tossing herbs, flowers, and mushrooms into the basket carried by the knights, we climbed the slightly chilly mountain path.

If you tried to cross this mountain, it would be extremely treacherous, but up to a certain point, it only had a gentle slope suitable for outings. Maybe someday I could bring the children here for fun.

“Someday, I’d like to grow these medicinal herbs on a farm.”

“Please do that… the mountains are dangerous…”

Just as she was saying that, Isara suddenly drew her sword.

Everyone present watched intently to see what was happening…

She aimed her blade at the gap between the trees further up the mountain and loudly challenged the unseen presence.

“Who goes there? Show yourself!”

The surrounding knights hurriedly drew their swords, and I managed to catch the basket that slipped from the knight’s grasp before it hit the ground.

Holding onto the basket, I followed Isara’s sword point with my eyes… and from between the trees, where it had seemed no one was there, a tall, silver-haired man emerged soundlessly.

“Calm down, we mean no harm.”

“Everyone, come out!”

“Well, you heard her.”

As the man said this, people began to emerge from behind him.

An effeminate-looking man in robes with a staff, a pointy-eared archer, a hulking man with horns and a greatsword on his back, and even a short, middle-aged man with a bushy beard — who I guessed was one of those rockmen called dwarves I had heard about — a group with no apparent cohesion.

“We’ve shown ourselves, now put down your sword, miss.”

“With a mage around, you think I’d lower my guard? All of you, drop your weapons!”

A fairy sprang out from Isara’s hair and began circling around her sword, which started to glow faintly with a bluish light.

“…Hmm? A female fairy wielder… and a young blonde one at that… in the border… Oh, well, this is a surprise! I never thought I’d meet ‘Isara the Murky’ in a place like this!”

At the man’s words, the tension among the people behind him seemed to rise.

Though they did not brandish their weapons, they were clearly on guard.

“So what? Are you going to make it a story to tell in hell? I won’t say it a third time—drop your weapons!”

The moment Isara said that, the man had a drawn sword in his hand.

It was drawn with such speed that the eye could barely follow, a beautifully ornate sword with a black blade inscribed with golden letters.

“Tch… So ‘Kintman the Whirlwind’ is here in a place like this…”

As Isara rested her sword on her shoulder, it crackled with energy.

In the tense, confrontational atmosphere, I called out to her from behind.

“Hold on, there’s no need to fight here. Let’s hear them out.”

“Fusha-sama, please step back…”

I put down the basket on the ground and moved a little closer to Isara.

“What brings you to this mountain?”

When I asked, the man with the black sword glanced at my face while still keeping an eye on Isara’s sword.

“…I heard old man Guldura is up ahead, so we’re on our way to see him.”

“Guldura… Oh, so you’re just visitors for old Guldura.”

Old Guldura was the elderly caretaker who looked after me, and I’d heard he once had quite the extensive dealings in the Kingdom of Folk.

This man must have known him from back in those days.

“If you call him ‘Old Guldura,’ then you must be from the Margrave?”

“I am Fushanklan, the third son of the Margrave of Tanukan. Guldura is my caretaker.”

The man nodded, a look of realization on his face, and then crouched down to meet my gaze at eye level.

“We’re a mercenary group, see, and we used to work with that old man back in the day.”

“I see.”

“So, what’s a young master like you doing in a place like this?”

“You! How dare you speak so casually to Fushanklan-sama!”

I patted Isara’s hip lightly, gesturing for her to calm down, and pointed to the basket on the ground.

“I’m an alchemist, here to gather materials.”

“Gathering materials, huh… But you seem awfully unguarded. Never mind ‘Isara the Murky,’ famed in the capital, but the rest of your lot looks pretty weak. If we were bandits, you’d all be dead by now.”

“This area is relatively safe.”

“Yeah, but there are always moments of danger, like today… it’s worrisome, you know.”

Saying this, the man clapped his hands as if he’d suddenly had a brilliant idea.

“How about it! Why don’t you hire us? Not to toot my own horn, but we’re pretty skilled. Around here, ‘Kintman the Whirlwind’ is a bit of a name.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I could slaughter the lot of you myself.”

“Maybe so. But young master, from the looks of it, you’re still quite young. That woman, she’s a knight appointed by your parents, not your own knight, is she?”

“……”

Did he read something in my reaction? Kintman seemed pleased as he continued.

“Such a knight won’t die for your sake. You can’t feel secure unless you have people you’ve hired yourself.”

“Shall we test right now if I would die for Fushanklan-sama…?”

With a defiant smile at Isara’s threat, Kintman tossed the sword in his hand and tapped his chest with his thumb.

“But with us, you can feel secure. We’ll live with you, and we’ll die with you. Unlike knights, mercenaries… can be surprisingly loyal.”

Well, it’s flattering that he’s pitching himself to me, and I am aware that I’ve been putting too much burden on Isara. I do want strong people on my side, but…

Frankly, I’m not prepared for such a decision.

“I get that having knights I’ve hired myself might be useful, but the thing is, I’m just the third son. I don’t have any money to spend freely. I’ve also got other people I need to support. I could introduce you to my father if you’d like…”

“Now, now, don’t jump to conclusions…”

Kintman said this as he turned to face the man in robes standing behind him. The robed man approached, whispered a few words in Kintman’s ear, and then Kintman turned back to me.

“We won’t need any money until you’re making a profit. What we need is a place to settle. We’ll help you make money, and then take a cut of the earnings. How does that sound?”

“No, there’s not really any work for a mercenary group around our castle. My older brother handles the port, so I could introduce you to him if you’d like…”

“No, wait! Don’t rush to a decision!”

Kintman again glanced back and exchanged looks with the robed man. They whispered to each other briefly, and the robed man patted Kintman on the shoulder before stepping back.

“We’re willing to pay you a setup fee.”

“Why?”

That makes no sense. Why would the ones being hired pay the employer?

“Fushanklan-sama, these guys are plotting something. We should turn them away before they enter our territory!”

“No, hold on, hold on!”

Kintman seemed flustered as he scratched his chin nervously. The robed man approached again and whispered something in his ear.

“That’s it! Just declare that I’m your first subordinate! That alone will ensure this is worth it. Being the trusted aide of the third son of a margrave… yeah, that has value looking ahead!”

Well, considering the reputation of a margrave, I guess that makes sense. Even my offhand remark led to one of my subordinates adopting an orphan from town…

For a rootless mercenary, even being a subordinate to the powerless third son might not be something to scoff at. There’s a saying from my previous life: “Better the head of a chicken than the tail of a bull.”

I can understand why someone might prefer to be the closest aide to a new master rather than take a middling position in an already established organization.

But… to serve under me, of all people, is quite a daring choice.

He seems to be a skilled fighter with some reputation. Surely there must be better opportunities out there for him.

“No, I still think it wouldn’t be right if I can’t pay you properly. I don’t think I’m the right person for this.”

“Wait! Just think it over a bit more…”

“You’re being persistent!”

Even though I had already refused, Kintman kept moving closer, almost clinging to my leg, and ended up getting kicked by Isara.

“You’re an alchemist, right?! We’ve got a mage and a blacksmith! We’ll definitely make it worth your while!”

I had no idea why he was pushing so hard, but at some point, Kintman’s subordinates had also sat down on the ground, bowing their heads.

“Come on! I’m begging you! Make me your subordinate!”

Kintman was almost groveling, clinging to my leg.

“We won’t be any trouble! I don’t need anything but honor!”

I was at a loss over Kintman’s desperate pleading, so I glanced over at the knights. To my surprise, they seemed strangely moved by this scene; some of them were even shedding tears, sniffling loudly. Maybe there was some point of knightly honor they understood here…

“I just want to be your first spear! I don’t need anything else! If you won’t take me, then kill me right here!”

Even Isara, who had been treating him roughly, seemed unable to continue kicking him now that he was pleading so earnestly.

Is this my fault for being narrow-minded? As the third son of a margrave, should I show the magnanimity to accept all who wish to serve me?

I looked up at the sky with this grown man clinging to my leg, but the clear blue expanse offered no answers.

In the end, I was swept along and returned to the castle with the mercenary group in tow.

◆◆◆

My earliest memory is of being rocked on the back of a dragon horse.

At a speed that sent the trees flying past behind us, we charged into the flank of a line of knights clad in silver armor. Each time an arm swung above my head, fresh blood splattered, and the knights’ arms or heads fell.

It didn’t take long for such a memory to become my everyday reality.

The Godol family I was born into was a long-standing mercenary clan, an illustrious band of rogues that had been in the business for hundreds of years.

As the second son, it was only natural that I would also take up the spear and work as a mercenary.

Instead of toys, I pulled a bow, and instead of bedtime stories, I was fed tales of my family’s martial exploits.

“Kintman, I’m entrusting you with a hundred men. Burn down four of the Folk villages.”

“Understood.”

That summer when I was twelve, my father and I had that exchange, and from then on, it was endless days of battle.

When the Bent Church State hired us, we burned Folk Kingdom’s villages; when the Folk Kingdom hired us, we burned the villages of the Bent Church State.

We would lure in the enemy knights who came blundering along and hold them for ransom. We charged into groups of infantry and killed as many as we could see.

By the time I held my fourth child, whose mother’s face I no longer remembered, I was a well-known mercenary, known as “Kintman the Whirlwind.”

But it was a few years later, in my early twenties, that I came to understand the true meaning of having a name known far and wide.

“This can’t be real…”

When I returned from battle in early spring, our mercenary group’s home village had been reduced to nothing but ashes.

The house inherited from our ancestors, the women, the children, the strong soldiers, the treasures, the liquor, the family, the pride — all were smeared with ash and scattered in the wind.

What was the point of becoming famous or amassing wealth?

Such things were nothing more than fleeting illusions that could vanish over a single winter.

We tracked down the other mercenary group that burned our home and slaughtered them all…

But without a base, our mercenary group couldn’t take on any big jobs, and we didn’t have enough men to establish a new base. In the end, the remnants of the Godol lineage became wanderers.

Like the wind, we had nowhere to go, wandering aimlessly from place to place. One by one, our original companions left, and our once-strong mercenary group gradually shrank smaller and smaller.

But, in a way, that was fine.

Killing, being killed, taking, and losing — such a way of life was absurd.

It took me over twenty years of living like that to finally realize it.

But realizing that didn’t mean I could easily walk away from it.

In the end, I gradually came to understand that I had no skills beyond killing and would likely never escape this vicious cycle until the day I died.

I never thought of it as a sin, not even for a moment, unlike those devout folk who regularly go to church. But I also no longer believed it was right.

I thought I would just keep drifting, and when the mercenary band dissolved, I would disappear along with it.

However, if you keep circling the same places, it’s strange how people start to join in. Our rootless mercenary band began to attract people who seemed to have nowhere else to go.

Outcasts, people of different ethnicities, old men, rockfolk dwarves, magicians, and all sorts of shady characters of unknown origin gathered around us, until it almost felt livelier than when we still had our home.

We wandered through towns and villages, hunting monsters or brigands not so different from ourselves. We were sought after, thanked, despised, driven away, and sought after again.

It felt like we were doing the same thing in different places, but that life came to an end at the beginning of the third spring.

We thought we’d taken on a simple monster-slaying job, but instead, there was an Earth Dragon.

I don’t know if we were just unlucky or if our employers had set us up.

But by the time the rockfolk dwarf, the magician, and I severed the Earth Dragon’s head, most of our group was already dead.

Before I knew it, we had drifted all the way to a small, cold village near the Karakan Mountains.

With the money from selling the Earth Dragon’s materials, we set up a workshop for the rockfolk dwarf, and I spent my days drinking as a hired guard.

I still had all my limbs, and a few companions remained.

Surely, this was about as good a conclusion as anyone named Kintman could hope for.

That’s what I thought, until a letter arrived at my door.

It was from an old general named Guldura, with whom I had worked several times before. Now, he was on the other side of the Karakan Mountains.

“Found you.”

That was the only word written in the letter.

Come to think of it, the old general always had a peculiar way about him.

I wondered if he had found me because he needed something, and I replied with a single, playful question.

“What did you find?”

And the reply that came back was just one word again.

“Eternity.”

To be honest, I couldn’t grasp the true meaning of the letter.

But knowing that the old general had sent it to me specifically, there had to be some reason behind it.

Moreover, for some reason, the word “eternity” in that letter seemed like a ladder from the heavens, lowered into my dead-end life.

It wasn’t logical; I just felt an overwhelming urge to understand its true meaning.

Impatient to wait for another letter, I set out from the small village on the very day I received it.

Those who had told me to stay behind, even the rockfolk dwarf who had finally set up his workshop, all followed after me… thus began the final journey of our mercenary band.