Chapter 77: The Hound on the Battlefield

The sunlight pouring down on the ruined earth was violently aggressive.

Was it because there was nothing in particular that could serve as cover? The tree crystals had branches, but no leaves.

The ghillie suit was horribly stuffy. The Hound Model enhanced exoskeleton I wore did not have air conditioning, so it was nothing but sheer misery.

Even the binoculars I peered through were hot. Beyond them, I could see a cluster of tree crystals.

They had grown to a decent height, but in the end, “decent” was all it was. Some parts could serve as cover, while others honestly offered no place to hide at all.

Would I choose this as an advance route?

I thought about it.

Fifty-fifty. That was the conclusion I reached. If I had to pass through it, I would. If there was another route, I would not. That was the kind of route it was. So what about the Insectum, those hostile aliens who were insect-men?

As I thought about that, the scenery through my binoculars did not change.

But there was movement beneath my chin.

The furball tucked near my chest as I lay there, blending into the ground, must have shifted.

I took my eyes off the binoculars and looked down. There was a dog.

A Welsh Corgi Pembroke Thunderbolt.

The genetically modified dog was tickling the underside of my chin with triangular, fox-like ears.

Rudo. Rudolf.

The barley-tea-colored furball glanced lightly left and right, then turned his face in a certain direction and stopped. His ears moved, twitching, as if catching the sound from that direction.

His ears, incomparable to human ears, must have picked something up. I pointed my binoculars that way. Unfortunately, I still could not see anything.

“Rabbit Unit, search for enemies. Direction, north-northwest.”

Beep!

An electronic tone of acknowledgment came back.

The Monoz hid against the ground just as I was. 

Rabbit Unit opened its mouth wide and pointed the antenna inside toward the direction I had indicated.

Several seconds. With an electronic tone, information was sent to my goggles. An Insectum advance confirmed. Their type was light cavalry. Light and fast. Their purpose was likely reconnaissance. They were moving as skirmishers.

“…”

I gripped the bone necklace. Pain.

I thought for three seconds.

Conclusion: they were not prey especially suited to me.

My strength as a sniper was range. But I had no extermination capability. Even if I killed one skirmisher with one shot, I could not finish off the rest. Since the enemy’s goal was reconnaissance, if I wanted to stop that, then once I began attacking, I would have to end it completely.

“…We’re pulling back.”

That was my decision.

In response, the forces I had hidden began to show themselves.

One dog, and twelve Monoz.

The usual insane lineup, all in fine spirits again today.

***

I had no past.

I had no memories.

I had no money.

So I became a mercenary, and I became a hound.

That was why I earned my daily bread as a mercenary.

Which meant my workplace was the battlefield. My current job was mercenary work that was very much like mercenary work. I was starting to lose track of what I was even saying, but in short, it was a job where I was hired to stand on a battlefield.

After giving the Monoz their orders, I ran in a crouch for about fifteen minutes. Once I had put some distance between the enemy and us, I transformed the Horse Unit into a Monoc and straddled it. Full throttle. The accelerator opened hard, growling as it spat out speed. The untouched cluster of tree crystals was horribly difficult to ride through. As the Horse Unit bounced and jolted, I pressed him down with my weight and kept him running.

Fifteen minutes later, we reached a leveled road. 

Our destination was close. I got off the Horse Unit and waited. The Dog Unit, Boar Unit, Rooster Unit, Rabbit Unit, and Rudo. They were fast on their feet. They reached the goal soon after. The Sheep Unit, Monkey Unit, Snake Unit, and Tiger Unit followed. The Rat Unit arrived a little while later. Its heavy cargo was probably the bottleneck. The Ox Unit came after that. And bringing up the very rear was the Dragon Unit, who should not have been carrying any cargo at all.

“…”

Why?

“I’m going to report to His Excellency. Rat Unit, you come with me. The rest of you, rest. Rudo, make sure you eat.”

After receiving a woof and a series of beeps in acknowledgment, I started walking. The Rat Unit rolled up to my feet. Secured. Unlike the other Monoz, the Rat Unit’s body was made of silicone, so dirt stood out on it. I walked while polishing it with the towel I had just received from the Ox Unit. The Rat Unit’s eyes blinked slowly and faintly. Somehow, it gave off a satisfied air.

A leather-covered tent came into view.

***

“Enemy shadow north-northwest. Type, Light Cavalry. Scale, platoon.”

Inside the tent was a large table, a map spread across it, and several pieces. I placed the long-bodied, short-legged corgi piece that represented “me,” pointed its nose north-northwest, and indicated the place where I believed the enemy was.

The one who received that report was a young man. No, a boy. No, a little boy.

He looked to be just around ten years old. Clad in Shirogane, a Tatara Heavy Industries enhanced exoskeleton for high-mobility combat with not a single scratch on it, he said, “Mm!” in a voice that had not yet changed.

His hair was neatly maintained, his cheeks were plump, and his hands did not have a single callus. No hardship had been carved into him.

So even after hearing my report, all he did was answer. That was it.

The front line in the war against the Insectum, bordering land stolen by the Insectum. This battlefield, whose description was lined with such stern-sounding words, had regained its calm long ago and was now being used to add prestige to rich young masters and young ladies.

So while the commander in charge of this sector was technically His Excellency in front of me, his position had been bought with money, which meant he could not do anything in particular. And I, no, we, did not expect anything in particular from him either.

Even my report was less to His Excellency and more something I had conveyed to everyone inside the tent.

“T-Then why have you returned? Why did you not fight?”

That is why you should keep your mouth shut, you shitty little brat of an Excellency.

“Yes, sir. I lacked various things necessary to wipe them all out, so…” I said with a bright smile, swallowing down the abuse that nearly came out..

“Eek! I-I am not blaming you! Truly! So do not glare at me with such a frightening face! I am not scared at all!”

“…”

He was contradicting himself slightly while also saying something rude. Knowing it was impolite, I pulled my hat down low and hid my gaze from His Excellency. Then I swept my eyes around the room.

“So, what do we do?”

A question. The ones I addressed were the mercenaries of the other platoons hired by His Excellency, just as I had been.

They and I exchanged opinions with our eyes, and in the end, we threw our gazes toward the man standing beside His Excellency.

He was an elderly man with a scar on his cheek.

A small man.

Even so, he was a man for whom the word “seasoned” fit perfectly.

The enhanced exoskeleton he wore still carried the “scent” of Tatara Heavy Industries, but it had been modified so heavily that identifying the original model was impossible. It was an enhanced exoskeleton with a military history worthy of its countless scars, and one that had allowed its owner to survive that history.

Born crying on the battlefield, raised on the battlefield, and destined to die on the battlefield. That suited the old soldier so well that it sounded like a joke to say his true profession was serving as a butler in a morning suit.

According to His Excellency, he was “Gramps.”

According to us mercenaries, he was “Sergeant.”

The man who, in practice, served as commander of this sector received the gazes from those around him, sent his sharp eyes racing across the map, and was about to open his mouth when—

“We should send out scouts, Your Excellency!”

An idiot cut in.

The place we mercenaries had absolutely refused to look. On the opposite side of His Excellency from Sergeant, a myna bird¹ standing there said that nonsense.

“…”

Fuck.

I rolled the curse around in my mouth where no one could hear it. Then I resumed passing the ball around with the other mercenaries through our gazes. Everyone kindly refused to receive it, so the ball came to me.

“…Hah.”

Scratch, scratch. I scratched my head. Giving off an aura of reluctance from my entire body, I turned my eyes toward the source of the voice.

A gentle-looking man with glasses. The way he swept back the brown hair hanging to his shoulders looked natural enough, but since my evaluation of him was already in the negatives, the only feeling that rose in me was the urge to shave him bald.

“There is no point, Operations Staff Officer.”

“Point? No point? Noooooow hold on just a moment, mercenary-kun! C-Could it be, could it possibly be! …Did you just say there was no point?”

My God! Operations Staff Officer began lamenting with exaggerated gestures.

The words I wanted to say to him were, “That’s what I said, you piece of shit.”

Wrapped in a polite layer that became, “Yes, that is what I said.”

“Absurd! Do you not understand the importance of information?! The most important thing on a battlefield is information! To think someone who does not understand that has become a mercenary… How deplorable.”

“The enemy’s position is already known. Since they are Light Cavalry, we can assume there is an enemy force of company or battalion scale nearby. Given that our own scale is a company, I believe we should withdraw rather than clash with them carelessly—”

“That is why I am saying we need reconnaissance!”

“…”

I am telling you that is the conclusion we reached as a result of reconnaissance.

“You will only be dividing our forces for no reason. The location of this headquarters, which has not yet been discovered, may also be exposed. Given that our assignment is defense and vigilance, I believe we should send the information to the battalion.”

“We need reconnaissance in order to send information!”

“…”

I’m telling you we have information to send because we already did reconnaissance!

Ah, damn it. This was no good. It was rich-boy command. The incurable disease where someone gets drunk on the phrase “information is important,” sends out unnecessary scouts, and feels like he has done his job. I scratched my head. I looked to Sergeant as if asking for help. A slight bow of the eyes. Its meaning was, Sorry. The moment I received it,

“Mm, yes, quite right. Let us send out scouts!”

a voice that had not yet changed reached a conclusion.

It went over terribly well with young masters. That was another bad part of rich-boy command.