Hell Week Training (1)

Mercenary Guild Eye Tooth.

I already have some information about that guild.

Unlike humans, I don't rush in without knowing my opponent's abilities.

Ah.

Right, I'm human too.

Anyway.

I had already received and read all the information on the mercenary guilds I was going to attack from Jose, the Red Eyes Southern Branch branch manager.

The information he provided was quite detailed and accurate.

It even included the note that Angel Pionic of Red Bull is unlikely to easily work under someone else.

Just as bald Calvin and mad dog Pablo said, the guildmaster leading Eye Tooth is a former military commander.

His name is Vicente Thamus.

It's already been a week since the guild war sparked by Red Eyes began.

They must be thoroughly prepared after hearing the news, mobilizing every military tactic they know.

The Brown Hawk I lead decided to attack a total of six guilds.

We were given fifteen days to take care of them all.

'Jose, that bastard...'

He deliberately picked only the hardest guilds and dumped them on me.

Even if we fail, the other guilds will suffer some damage,
so he probably plans to send in the main forces after us to finish the fight.

If we take care of all six guilds for him, that's good in its own way.

If not, he can get rid of the thorn in his side, Brown Hawk, without lifting a finger.

I could see through Jose's shallow schemes,
but I accepted it all.

In fact, that's the best way for me to quickly build my track record.

And—

It's something I can more than handle.

We've already taken out five guilds. The only one left is the Eye Tooth Guild.

In other words—

We still have a week and one more day left.

* * *

Deep in the western woods of Komus City.

I surveyed the guild members standing in a five-row formation.

Alright.

Starting today, for a week—

Hell training begins.

Before the training, I decided to reorganize the guild in military fashion.

"Bastian, Calvin, Pablo, Bradley. Step forward."

The four came forward.

"From now on, the guild is divided into five squads. Each squad is ten men. The ones I just called are the squad leaders and ten-man commanders."

Bald Calvin raised his hand.

"Aren't there supposed to be five squads? We're short one squad leader."

"I'll take one myself."

"Yessir."

He looks like an orc,
but there's something cute about him.

"I'll lead the first squad. Bastian has the second. Calvin, the third. Pablo, the fourth. Bradley, the fifth."

"Yes, sir!"

Bradley.
He's the only guildmaster who surrendered without a fight—former head of the Strong Guild.

He has a surprisingly slender build for a mercenary, but his eyes are striking.

Even when he walked out and knelt, there wasn't a trace of groveling in his gaze.

Fortunately, since his was a small guild of exactly ten including the master, they made up the fifth squad.

Those who have crossed swords together even once always work better as a unit.

"All remaining guild members, take down your tents and then gather here in this formation. Squad leaders, follow me inside."

"Yes, sir!"

"Yessir!"

They're all quite obedient.

Actually,
it hasn't been long since the guild members started listening this well.

Ever since surrendering groups joined and our numbers grew, there had been plenty of friction.

A mercenary guild full of battle-scarred, burly men,
suddenly being told to take orders from a pale twelve-year-old as guildmaster—it wasn't easy to keep them in line.

The tenth of my twelve comrades,
Mercenary King Kendrick, once said:
"Taming mercenaries? It's easy. Basically, they follow strength."
—So all I have to do is show overwhelming strength in battle?
"No. Even easier. Just beat them half to death every time they disobey. Don't let up."

Two days ago.

The friction exceeded my standard.

So I changed my management style to follow Mercenary King Kendrick's method.

"P-please! Please stop hitting me! Guild master!"

"Gah, I swear loyalty—gah, with all my heart!"

As a result,
everyone listens well now.

The four ten-man commanders gathered in the tent where Bastian and I stayed.

"Bastian."

"Yeah."

Bastian rummaged through his pack and pulled out a large wooden box.

Gasp.

Bradley made a strangled sound.

"Bradley. You know what this is?"

"No, I don't."

Twitch.

Bradley quickly bowed his head when he saw my brow furrow.

"I-I don't know, sir!"

"We're at war. I'm the commander. Speak informally one more time and I'll rip your tongue out."

I don't care much for human manners.

But—
in wartime, strict hierarchy is a must.

"Y-yes, sir!"

"Then why were you startled?"

Bradley pointed at the symbol engraved on the box.

"I recognize that symbol. Isn't it the one the legendary Roider Knight Order used?"

Oh, not bad.

"That's right. This is the insignia of the Roider Knight Order. I'm surprised anyone still remembers, when it's been extinct for a while."

Click.

Bastian opened the lid on the wooden box set atop the table.

Inside were about a hundred small potion bottles, neatly arrayed.

"You know what these are?"

"Not really..."

"I told you not to trail off."

"I'm not sure, sir!"

I picked up one of the bottles to show him.

"Long ago, when the Roider Knight Order was at its peak, these were supplied to centurions before important battles."

A centurion.

If a ten-man commander leads ten soldiers, a centurion leads one hundred.

Bradley asked,
"Where did you manage to get such a rare thing?"

Well.

I raided Mercenary King Kendrick's treasure vault.

"No need for you to know."

Bald Calvin grabbed one of the bottles.

"Supplies for knight order centurions! It must be amazing!"

These guys might call themselves ten-man commanders for leading ten skilled mercs,
but a centurion of the knight order commands a hundred knights, each with incredible ability.

That means a hundred knights capable of wielding aura.

"Pretty sharp. Before a crucial battle, Roider Knight Order centurions received these potions to share with their unit."

"Oh! What does the potion do?"

"For ten days, you can live without sleep, feel no fatigue, and your muscles get pumped."

Mad dog Pablo, owner of the biggest muscles, perked up.

"Did you say our muscles would get pumped?"

"Yeah."

"Ooooh!"

"But after ten days, you're back to normal—don't get too excited."

"Aaah..."

Pablo looked genuinely disappointed.

Kind of cute, for a brute.

"Go and pass these out—one to each squad member. Starting today, we enter a week of hell training here."

Bald Calvin raised his hand.

"If we're staying for a week, why did you order all tents down? I thought we were relocating."

"Didn't you hear? Hell training."

"Yes, but..."

"I said, hell training."

He still looked puzzled.

"For a whole week, you don't sleep."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean it. With this, you don't need sleep, you won't feel tired."

"But how can anyone..."

"You can do it. Just think of it as experiencing hell for a week. And—"

The four squad leaders held their breath, waiting for my next words.

"Suffering for one intense week is better than dying fighting Eye Tooth Guild."

Hell Week training had begun.

A training of hell—

to avoid ending up in literal hell.

* * *

"You see that rocky hill out there? Tag it and come back. The first squad there gets dinner. The other four get nothing tonight."

Bald Calvin cried out in shock.

"What? No dinner? How can we do hell training on an empty stomach?"

"Go."

"But where is that rocky hill?"

"Over there. Can't you see?"

"You don't mean that one waaaay out there?"

"Move."

"Uaaahhh!"

With a shout, Bradley's 5th squad started moving first.

Two long logs were placed like railroad tracks,
and the ten squad members' ankles were tied to the logs in a row.

Similar logs were slung over their shoulders.

They all had to move, hauling and dragging these four logs in sync.

"If you drop the shoulder log, go back to the start and do it again."

The sixth of my twelve comrades,
the soldier Eiker, once said:
"What matters most for soldiers is eating well and sleeping well."
—Other commanders don't seem to think like that.
"In a life where you could die or become a cripple at any moment, at least eat well and rest easy."
—You're a good commander, Eiker.
"But there's an exception."
—Exception?
"Yeah. If it looks like everyone'll die in the next battle. Then sleep and food don't matter."
—Then what?
"Training. Even if it means little sleep and hungry bellies."
—Didn't you just say eating and sleeping was most important?
"It's better to lose sleep or miss a meal than get cut down by the enemy."

"Heave! Ho!"

At first they were shaky, but Bradley's squad soon picked up speed in sync with his calls.

The other squads quickly rushed after squad five.

I walked alongside the squads, checking each guild member's condition.

You have to accurately judge your unit's capability to devise proper strategy.

Still, these guys were pretty sturdy from rough field life.

Of course, the Roider Knight Order's potions helped a lot too.

But—

They're still not good enough.

* * *

Thud!

One of the logs carried by the 3rd squad hit the ground.

"Can't... do it anymore..."

"Who did this! Now we have to start over!"

"I... I can't go on. I can't lift it anymore."

"You bastard! You'll skip breakfast if you break! Snap out of it!"

Ten squad members.

All different body types, different strength and stamina.

After a whole night of dragging the logs, even with the knight order potion, dropouts started to appear.

Thud!
Thud!

Not only the third squad kept dropping shoulder logs.

"All squads, back to the starting line!"

"To the line!"

When a few mercs untied their ankles and tried to quit,
I beat them half to death as an example.

That instilled strict discipline—
Fear-driven, perhaps, but enough to last a week.

"Pick up the logs again. This is the last round trip. Only the first three squads get breakfast. The winner gets a 30-minute break after eating."

"What about the others?"

"They start the next training session right away. No break."

A few guild members whispered.

"This can't be for humans to endure..."

"Is this right?"

"By the way, has the guildmaster's way of speaking changed since this hell training started?"

"Kinda seems like it..."

"What are you muttering there?"

"Eek! N-no sir!"

Crack.

I cracked my knuckles lightly.

"Those who talked just now, untie your ankles and step out."

"......"

"Step out."

"S-sorry!"

"We'll get the logs right up! Hey! What are you waiting for! Shoulders to the log!"

"We can do it! Let's go!"

Now that's the spirit.

As I crack down harshly on hell training,
even my way of speaking has become like a drill sergeant's.

"It's only a week. If you last, we win the war against Eye Tooth. Glory awaits after. But if you slack off this week, you'll all die dogs' deaths. Anyone who wants to quit now, raise your hand."

No one did.

Last night, the first guy to try had his face beaten to a pulp, pleading, "P-please, I-I'll try my b-best, please save me..."

"All right—move out!"

The first day of hell week was finally over.

-------------= Clacky's Corner -------------=
One thing I didn't like about this novel is that it took a sudden dark turn at chapter 3... That came out on a left field and it left a bad taste in my mouth...
Luckily, this chapter made me like the story again...
I'm a sucker for Hell trainings...
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