Brown Hawk

"You insolent little brat. Listen carefully. My name is Calvin! I am the guildmaster of the mercenary guild Brown Hawk!"

"Brown Orc? Now that you mention it, you kind of look like an orc..."

Bang!

Bald Calvin slammed the table hard.

"Not an orc, a hawk! Eagle, you brat!"

"Then a bald eagle...?"

"What? You little punk!"

Calvin glared at me as if he wanted to eat me alive.

Is empathic speech with humans still too much for me?

The nanny did it like this, though.

I'll try again later.

"You seem young and ignorant, so I'll let you off this once. This is my territory, Calvin's area, so don't let me hear the words 'Red Eyes'. Got it?"

He looked like he was about to throw a punch, but suddenly he showed mercy, claiming it was because I was still young.

Mercy, huh...

No, that's not it.

It's because of the clothes we're wearing.

If you mess with a noble's child, whether you're Brown Hawk or Brown Orc, you could be wiped from this city completely.

Of course, wearing nice clothes doesn't guarantee someone's a noble child.

But there's no need to risk picking a fight with kids who might be from noble families.

Bald Calvin.

He openly declared his hostility toward Red Eyes.

He displayed a sense of superiority, showing he didn't fear Red Eyes.

And he established the excuse that he spared us because we were just kids.

He's a pretty sly guy, despite his appearance.

Without taking any risk, he achieved exactly what he wanted in front of his subordinates.

Bald Calvin stomped back to his seat, snorting.

You can tell he knows how to survive—he knows where to lie down and which way to stretch his legs.

Calvin, guildmaster of the Brown Hawk mercenary guild.

When I first entered the inn, I had no interest in him, but now I've become quite intrigued.

Guys like him often have a lot of uses.

Bastian asked,

"So he's not actually a bad guy? You called him an orc, but he let us go because we're kids."

"I didn't call him that to tease him."

"Huh?"

Because I'm missing a few teeth, my pronunciation isn't good, and 'hawk' sounded like 'orc'.

And since he really does resemble one, I just said it.

Empathic speaking.

I turned my head and looked at Calvin's table.

I saw his profile as he gulped down beer heartily.

See, he really does look like one.

"And it's not because we're kids that he let us go."

"Then why?"

I grabbed at my clothes and showed him the fabric.

"These clothes. He thought we were nobles and didn't dare touch us."

"Oh...! So it wasn't that he let us go, he just couldn't touch us?"

I simply nodded in reply.

"Anyway, thank goodness, Evan. I thought something big was about to happen here again."

Big incidents always come from the most unexpected places.

Thud.
Clatter!

Someone who was staggering around bumped into our table with his side, then toppled onto the floor.

Looks like he drank a lot, judging by how unsteady he is.

"Whassat! Who did this!"

A man, face flushed red, glared back and forth at me and Bastian.

His tongue was already slurred.

"Was it you guys? How dare you trip me? How dare you mess with Pablo the Mad Dog of Brown Orc!"

Everyone keeps pronouncing it 'orc' anyway.

Maybe the guild's name was poorly chosen from the start.

Or maybe, deep down, he thinks his guildmaster looks like an orc too.

The man staggered to his feet.

I heard Bald Calvin's voice from the other table.

"Hey! Grab Pablo, that bastard! Now!"

Guild master Calvin.

Despite how he looks, he has more of a survival instinct than a temper.

He'll probably live a long life.

Calvin's subordinates hurriedly got up from their tables.

But Pablo, the Mad Dog of Brown Hawk, swung his fist faster.

Thwack.

His angle was off, his speed was off, the force behind it was the worst.

I caught the laughable incoming fist barehanded.

He's more than twice my size, but a drunken thug's punch is nothing to me.

"You bastard!"

He threw another punch with his left hand, since his right was caught.

Whoosh.

I bent my knees and waist, dodging lightly.

Then, in one-nimble motion, I sprang up, bringing my right knee up at a 90-degree angle.

Crack!

I smashed a knee kick into his jaw.

"Uuuurgh..."

Wobbling a few steps, pablo collapsed flat on his back.

I turned my head to look at the bald orc.

So, what now?

In small mercenary guilds like this, the biggest glue is loyalty.

Even if someone isn't that skilled, you need partners you can trust to watch your back.

Mutual loyalty and trust.

Without it, such guilds can't survive.

Now, I've knocked down a guild member right in front of the guildmaster.

And the opponents are children who might be of noble blood.

What will you do?

Calvin hesitated for a moment, then shouted,

"Grab those brats! Beat them—just don't kill them!"

Instead of showing fear to some well-dressed kids, he gambled his guild's fate on the chance we might not actually be high nobles.

A bold wager.

He must be a gambler by nature.

And a talented one, at that.

The bet of the gambler, the bald orc, was on the money.

Because we're not noble children.

We have no one in this land to watch our backs.

If we got beat up by rural mercenary guild thugs, there's no one in the world who would seek revenge for us.

Not a single person.

But then again.

You guys don't have anyone watching your backs either, do you?

Smack!

I punched the leading guy right in the philtrum as he charged at me.

* * *

Sathus Kingdom, southeastern region, small city of Naumsi.

On the city outskirts, where land is cheapest, in the forest zone.

There sits the base of the mercenary guild Brown Hawk.

They started out as a gang of thugs, just a bunch of robbers.

But under the bold innovation and reform of the current guildmaster and former boss, Calvin,
they transformed into a legitimate mercenary guild, officially recognized by the kingdom.

Sometimes, their profits were less than when they were thugs.

But,
being able to build and display their base so openly, even if just on the city's edge,
and not having to constantly worry about getting arrested by the city security—
these advantages outweighed the disadvantages.

At least, until tonight.

Guild master Calvin's mind was in chaos.

No matter how hard he tried to find the reason, he just couldn't figure out
how things had come to this.

Where did it all go wrong?

"Boss... no, guildmaster. What should we do now?"

"Quiet. I'm still thinking."

Tied tightly with rope, Calvin had met the devil today.

A demon from hell.

Wait, since no one died, maybe not a demon—but anyway.

That little devil, not even 150 centimeters tall,
beat up Calvin and six guild members at the inn,
then dragged them to the base,
where the devil proceeded to beat up another dozen or so guild members in an instant.

And so,
every member of Brown Hawk, including guildmaster Calvin,
was tied up in the base's front yard.

Their arms and legs so expertly and tightly bound,
escape wasn't even a dream—they couldn't even wiggle.

And then, those words:
"I'll give you two choices. First, from today, you all work for me. Second, you all die now. You have one hour to decide. I'll come back in an hour."

"Is there another option?"

"Want me to kill you all now?"

"... No, never mind."

What the...
What kind of choice is this?
The promised hour was almost up,
but no solution came to mind.
The choice was one of two:
Die honorably,
or become the devil's minions.

Guild master Calvin gritted his teeth.

Fine.

He'd made up his mind.

Rather than become the devil's minion,
he'd die with honor.

That was the fate allotted to him in this life.

Looking back,
it was certainly a turbulent life.

I'm proud.

"Have you decided?"

"Aaah! When did you get here?"

He hadn't made a sound, but the devil and his subordinate were back.

"I said, have you decided?"

All right.

I've decided, you damn devil.

I, Calvin, will die honorably—

"I'll count to three. One, two."

"We pledge our utmost loyalty!"

"Smart choice."

* * *

The twelve companions I met in my days as a sword were divided into two types.

Those who started with everything,
and those who started at the bottom.

Those who began at the bottom shared one trait:
they built their own forces, no matter what.

Mercenary King Kendrick did so, and Bandit King Blake as well.

Perhaps only Bennett the Warrior, the living quote machine, was the exception.

Some are born with tremendous backing,
but if you're not, you've got to build companions you can trust with your life.

If there's no one to watch your back,
you make your own crew to cover you.

If you have no one to rely on,
you build a band you can trust and depend on.

As a human, my first force has formed.

The Brown Hawk mercenary guild, led by the bald man who looks like an orc, is that force.

Demoted from guildmaster to boss again, bald Calvin shouted:
"What? You mean we're working under Red Eyes?"

"That's right."

"But why... why Red Eyes, of all people! Now that we have you, shouldn't we unite and fight against Red Eyes instead?"

"If you call me 'big brother' one more time, I'll cut your throat."

"Yes! Big... I mean, guildmaster! I'll watch myself!"

I mean it.

Being called 'big brother' by a big, scarred, bald guy twice my size and age is not a pleasant feeling.

"This is for your own good."

"What do you mean? Those guys—Red Eyes always interfere in our business—"

"I don't like backtalk."

"...."

If we leave things, red Eyes will attack Brown Hawk soon enough.

You've already shown your hostility—no way they'll come to make a deal.

Most of you will die or scatter and run.

This way is the better choice.

"Listen well. Red Eyes will soon go after every mercenary guild in the six major cities of the southeast."

Calvin looked shocked.

"You'll be next too, obviously. You can't go up against Red Eyes. Their numbers are twenty times yours, for one thing."

Bald Calvin.

For all his talk hating Red Eyes, I'm certain he never actually stepped over the line—
he knows if he did, they'd crush him.

He's that kind of guy.

"Listen carefully. I'm telling you how Brown Hawk can survive. We join Red Eyes and serve at the front of their guild-conquest war. When Red Eyes finishes consolidating their target territory, then you step up with a demand."

"Demand what?"

"What else? This area—you get Red Eyes to grant you the exclusive rights to Naumsi's commissions. Of course you'll have to pay them a cut, but it's the only way Brown Hawk survives. Once this is all over, Bastian and I will leave. Then you run things yourselves again. You can have the guildmaster's title back too."

"Oh..."

Quick-witted, despite his looks, bald Calvin didn't take long to decide.

He wasn't happy about giving away a cut,
but in exchange, he could run the guild securely—
even more stable than before.

Besides,
skimming a bit off the top is easy, isn't it?

"We'll do it, big...! I mean, guildmaster!"