Mercenaries in the Mountains

Under Tibert's lead, Noah arrived at a corner of the encampment where several disheveled mercenaries in unkempt attire stood in a loose row. Beside them sat a gargantuan contraption that captured Noah's attention.

It was a massive crossbow mounted on a carriage-like frame, with shafts for two horses at the front and a total of four wide wheels on the sides for stability. The rear of the crossbow housed a windlass for drawing its sturdy, colossal string, and nestled in the central groove rested a specially crafted bolt, the head as wide as a palm and terrifyingly sharp. The entire ballista exuded the artisan's skill, with numerous metallic components whose names eluded Noah, yet their sturdiness, solidity, and reliability were evident.

"This is the 'Blood Bride,' the largest ballista ever crafted," Tibert caressed its metal frame with a hint of pride. "We are the best dragon hunters from the Fells, having slain countless flying beasts. Nothing survives its hit, nothing. We believe in the power of technique and experience, Lady Rocher. Only what we see before us can be trusted."

"As you can see, I've hired the dragon hunters of the Fells because they are renowned marksmen with such artillery, esteemed mercenaries," Rocher explained to Noah. "My troops will coordinate with Mr. Tibert, who will be the core of our strategy, and you shall follow his command as well."

Noah circled the ballista, inspecting it while seeking advice inwardly.

"Can this thing harm a demon?"

Gladius cackled in his mind, "Oh, how naïve mortals are. You're all so simple-minded; it makes me want to wreak havoc on this world. Noah, if we cooperate, we can enslave these fools at will."

Turning back to Tibert, Noah inquired, "How does it shoot upwards?"

With a subtle gesture from Tibert, one of the mercenaries approached the ballista and swiftly manipulated a wooden lever back and forth, eliciting rhythmic creaks as the angle of fire was gradually elevated. After securing the lever back in place, the ballista settled, aiming straight ahead once more.

The mercenary went on to demonstrate its pivoting capabilities. The crossbow wasn't fixed to the carriage and could rotate on its base, allowing for easy aiming in all directions.

"Can it hit a demon?" Noah questioned.

Tibert asked with derision, "Little hunter, I'm growing tired of your questions. How many demons have you killed?"

Noah hesitated.

"None."

"None?" Tibert's eyes widened before he burst into laughter, prompting the mercenaries to join in. Their mirth attracted other soldiers, and soon Noah was encircled by a mocking crowd, embarrassed and frustrated.

"On my way here, I killed a river giant," Noah asserted.

"A river giant? Is that a demon?" Tibert's laughter echoed even louder, nearly doubling over, "No—come on, don't jest. We're dealing with demons here; we need a serious atmosphere! But you... you're quite the jester."

Noah's expression soured.

"Your 'tools' won't work against a demon," he stated firmly.

"You think so? Is that what you really believe?" Tibert's demeanor shifted to seriousness. "What do you take our livelihood for? We only respect those who are experienced and well-trained. If you lack that, I'm sorry, step aside. Don't interrupt a professional mission, don't think to interfere, and certainly don't belittle us."

"Noah won't affect our plans," Rocher interjected. "We need him as a consultant with extensive knowledge of demons. Noah, what do you know about the demons captured in your sanctuary?"

Another awkward question.

"Do you know?" Noah asked Gladius silently. "Do you know about this 'winged demon'..."

"Ah! You're asking for my help now! Aren't we enemies?" Gladius's voice was sharp with mockery. "I slaughtered your friends, yet you need me, and I need you. If you're willing to turn an enemy into a friend, discard the meaningless hatred in your heart and decide to befriend me, I'll share all information with you. What do you say? Quite a bargain, right? Considering we'll be together for a long time, it's time to let down your guard, mortal, and make friends with a demon."

"...Get lost." Noah knew he must not yield to the demon. He believed demons were always greedy and deceitful; if it seemed friendly, it was plotting something even more sinister.

Facing the eager, skeptical, and scrutinizing gazes of those around him, Noah had to admit, "I don't know. If I could return to Greywood Hall and consult..."

"There's no time for that," Tibert dismissed, his hand sweeping through the air as if brushing away impractical ideas. "Really, are you a demon hunter? You seem... to know nothing."

Noah frowned, considering showing them a hunter's spell. But...

"There's no need to add to the tension and animosity here. Noah, my men will take you to a place to rest. Mr. Tibert, we shall continue our discussion regarding the upcoming plans," Rocher said, effectively ignoring Noah.

They engaged in eager conversation, actively planning their next moves as they headed toward Rocher's tent, with Tibert casting a scornful glance back at Noah.

Why is he targeting me like this? Noah wondered.

He waited a while, but no one came to fetch him or show him to a resting place, making him feel foolish as the whispers and laughter about him grew louder. Deciding to find a wind-sheltered spot away from the crowd, he had barely taken a step when a raspy voice called out.

"Wait up for me." An old soldier with a wide forehead, grizzled hair, and greasy, slack skin, called out from a table where he played dominoes with a few others, "Just let me finish this round."

"Who are you?" Noah asked, puzzled.

"Quiet down, I'm pondering the game," the old soldier turned back to the table, focused on the play, "Hey, you're cheating! You switched the tiles while I was looking away!"

"Thanks, won't be shy now," another soldier laughed, spreading out his winning tiles before scooping up the scattered coins.

"Damn shame, pulling tricks while I'm distracted." The old soldier grumbled and stood up, fuming, and approached Noah, "Let's go."

"I'm Noah. What's your name?"

"I'm Prox from Gloom Keep," the old soldier answered lazily, "I'm one of Lady Rocher's guards, handling her affairs."

"Oh." Noah followed Prox, seizing the moment to inquire, "That Tibert, the mercenary leader, seems quite displeased with me. Do you know why?"

"Cough, lad, if someone's angry with you for no apparent reason, it's always about interest," Prox explained slowly, "The only irreconcilable conflict in the world is over interests."

"What interest conflict could I have with him?" Noah pondered, utterly confused.

"I don't know. What do you do again?"

"I'm a demon hunter."

Prox stepped back, eyeing Noah with suspicion, "So young? And a demon hunter who hasn't wet himself from fear yet."

"I'm well-prepared."

"Alright then, you should be able to behead that beast and claim the hundred gold coins bounty from the count."

"A hundred gold coins!" Noah's eyes widened at the substantial sum, enough for a fine house in the countryside.

"I thought demon hunters were above material desires," Prox expressed surprise.

"No... it's just... unexpected," Noah sighed.

"So, you see, if you're ambitious, striving for success, and you kill that demon, the money flies out of his hands, that's why he hates you. I bet he's dying inside. Tibert's from the Fells; those folk are either savages or mad, or half-breeds of both. Ah, I'm rooting for you. You look like a good Loman local, not dirty like those mountain dwellers. Once the beast is shot down, rush in and behead it while he's basking in glory, and you'll be rich."

"First we have to bring it down," Noah said, skeptical of the ballista.

Prox led Noah to a cramped tent, among several similar round ones, with unfamiliar soldiers sitting by campfires, glancing at Noah and Prox.

"There, make do with this spot for now," Prox pointed at the tent. "If you need anything else, just holler."

Inside the tent, Noah found a simple cot, a bare chest in the corner, and little else.

"I couldn't be more pleased," he said, though the sarcasm was lost on Prox, who joined others by the fire, where a fish stewed in a pot. He grabbed a wooden spoon and, amidst complaints, slurped the broth, then turned back to Noah, "Have you had dinner?"

"The villagers gave me some food," Noah admitted, pulling dried meat from his bag.

"Give me a taste?" Prox asked, and Noah, not wanting to cause trouble, complied.

Prox chewed thoughtfully on the meat.

"I saw you with a sword. Are you a swordsman?"

"I wouldn't claim so. I carry it for self-defense, but I'm no swordsman."

"I could show you a few basics," Prox wiped his mouth and drew his sword, demonstrating before Noah, "We're about to face battle with the demon, and it's good to have some skill."

Noah watched, captivated as Prox's blade moved with precision and skill, revealing a nuanced understanding of the sword.

"This is Prox, renowned for his swordsmanship," a nearby soldier commented. "You're in luck."

Noah drew his keen gray blade, eliciting envious glances.

"Damn, I wish I had such a fine weapon..."

"Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart," Prox instructed, "one foot forward for quick movement, eyes fixed on your foe. All swordplay begins from four stances."

Noah heeded Prox's guidance, starting his training.

"'Barbarian,'" Prox held his sword aloft, a stance for easy counterstrikes.

"'Harvester,'" he angled the sword behind him as if to swing, "This threatens your enemy maximally."

"'Duelist,'" Prox leaned slightly, sword poised for a challenge, its tip aimed at the neck and chest, "In this posture, if you strike faster, you win."

"'Fool,'" he lowered the sword, seemingly vulnerable, "It's to bait the overconfident into attacking."

Noah grew more invested with each lesson, losing track of time as he transformed from a novice to an apprentice stepping into the halls of swordsmanship, forgetting earlier displeasure.