Off track

Straw sandals and bare feet ached faintly against the hard cobblestones. With the spring wind blowing into their faces, the sensation underfoot felt even more bitterly cold.

Wearing a leather jacket, a straw hat, and knee-high riding boots, Home Alone walked into Pinewood Town at noon, his outfit a rather odd jumble.

The town stood beside a mountain, a river, and a grove of pines, forming a triangle overall.

As Home Alone entered, thick cooking smoke drifted over the town. Women waved their brooms, sweeping vigorously outside their doors and along the streets to clear away dust and dirt.

Men moved along the streets in twos and threes. Some sat chatting and laughing on the roadside steps, while others carried logs or swung hammers and axes, putting up platforms and poles in the open spaces along the streets.

Home Alone had no idea what those things were for, but they were clearly preparing for some festival.

"Hey, singer!"

"Good afternoon, bard..."

"Hey, brother, are you joining us for the Spring Festival in a few days? I really like your voice."

The townspeople along the road greeted Home Alone warmly. After several consecutive evenings of singing in the camp, everyone in town knew him.

Besides the men, some bold women and girls waved at him, beckoning him over.

Home Alone did not dare look, let alone go over. Partly, he feared the local men would beat him to death, but mostly, the local women's looks were... hard to describe.

Home Alone's task in town was simple: find a guide who could lead them through the mountains along the Kingdom of Bagnia's border. Chris had assigned him this task personally.

Home Alone thought it would not be easy, but it should not be too difficult either.

After walking around half the town, Home Alone still had no leads. Just how was he supposed to do this?

He came to a tavern and poked his head around the doorway. Quite a few men sat inside. After a moment's thought, Home Alone went in.

The people inside greeted the player just as warmly. Some even invited him to sing a song and give everyone a treat.

"No, no, I won't be singing. Let me buy everyone a beer instead. Wet your throats."

"Woohoo!"

"Now that sounds good."

Drinking in the middle of the day might not have been ideal, but this was free booze. Who could possibly refuse?

None of the twenty-odd men present could resist. Even several women in long, heavy homespun skirts slapped the tables, urging the tavern keeper to hurry up with the hefty wooden beer mugs.

Home Alone sat at the bar with a beer of his own. He also ordered some smoked sausage from the waitress and ate as he drank.

Once he had finished eating and drinking and filled his stomach for the moment, everyone in the tavern had received their beer. Home Alone beckoned the owner over to settle the bill.

With that done, Home Alone strolled to the small space deliberately left clear in the middle of the tavern and cleared his throat loudly.

The tavern was noisy, everyone spouting rambling nonsense. Still, thanks to the free large mug of beer, someone stood and repeatedly asked the other men to quiet down.

"Brother, are you going to sing?"

"Hey, hey, give him a round of applause!"

"Tweet, tweet~~~"

Home Alone quickly raised his hands and pressed them downward, signaling everyone to curb their enthusiasm.

"I'm not here to sing. I have something to ask. Does anyone... uh, need work?"

At that point, a problem suddenly occurred to Home Alone... Looking for a guide to cross the mountains along Bagnia's border did not seem like something he should announce in public.

No matter how he looked at it, it did not sound legal.

Maybe I should hint at it instead?

"What kind of work? Long-term or short-term?"

A man shouted the question.

Home Alone thought about it. Leading a party across the mountains was clearly not something that could be done quickly. Besides, the party only needed to make the trip once, but the guide would have to make it twice to get home.

"Long-term."

"Does the job involve killing people?"

Home Alone recalled the unruly locals, bandits, and Bohemian troops demanding money at roadblocks that he had encountered during the caravan's two-month journey from Inyama.

Even relatively peaceful Bohemia was like that. Bagnia, where civil war had reportedly broken out and everyone was fighting, certainly would not be peaceful.

"There will be fighting along the way. Depending on the circumstances, I'll..."

"How much does it pay each month?"

Someone interrupted Home Alone, too impatient to let him finish.

How much?

Chris had told him that. Home Alone remembered.

"Five to twenty silver coins a month. The family allowance is a hundred-jin sack of rice, a bolt of homespun cloth, and fifty silver coins."

Chris was a modern man. He had taken into account that guiding people across the mountains would be grueling work that required at least six months away from home.

If the applicant was the family's breadwinner, with a wife, children, or elderly relatives to support, those six months away could leave them destitute or starving.

So a family allowance was only appropriate.

But Chris had not anticipated what the player who accepted the quest would do...

Well, Home Alone was young and rather flighty. He overlooked details, let things slip, and started an impromptu recruitment session without explaining the job or how many people he wanted.

Once he announced such generous terms, including a family allowance, along with the need to kill people, everyone in the tavern understood what kind of work this was.

"So you're recruiting mercenaries!"

The tavern keeper hit the nail on the head. The men who had not yet thought of that suddenly understood.

"Ah, so we'd be risking our lives... Not for me. I've got a wife at home."

"I think it sounds all right. Fifty silver coins for the family allowance? That's worth risking my life."

Hey, no, not mercenaries. A guide!

Home Alone grew anxious. Just as he raised his hand, about to clear up the misunderstanding at the top of his voice, something happened.

A visibly muscular man in leather clothing, around forty-something with a scar on his face, put down his beer mug and stood. He introduced himself to Home Alone in a low, raspy voice.

"I'm Carlos. I used to be a grenadier in the First Company, First Battalion, Seventh Regiment of the Bohemian Empire's Third Royal Guard.

I can throw an earthenware bomb fifteen meters while wearing plate armor. I'm good in close combat and can use a flintlock or a matchlock.

I've also been trained to load and fire field guns, so I can serve as a gunner.

Besides that, if you need someone to fight cavalry, I can wear plate armor and stand on the front line with a halberd... But I want thirty silver coins a month, and the family allowance stays."

"Hmm?"

Home Alone had been about to speak, but the man's words immediately caught his attention. The moment he heard "grenadier," he forgot all about clearing up the misunderstanding.

A grenadier?

An elite soldier!

The term grenadier originated with European infantry who could throw grenades during the age of muzzle-loading firearms.

Because grenades back then were similar in size and weight to small cannonballs, only infantrymen with exceptional arm strength could throw them.

In battle, these soldiers had to advance ahead of their own lines through enemy gunfire until they reached bayonet range. Then, without panic or disorder, they hurled those small shells at the enemy, using the explosions to break their formations.

At such close range, both the exploding grenades and concentrated enemy fire could kill the grenadiers, leaving this troop type with an extremely high casualty rate.

Such brutal fighting conditions made the selection requirements exceptionally strict. A powerful physique, extraordinary courage, and a strong sense of honor were all indispensable.

These troops were therefore even more valuable than cavalry. Equivalent to China's Trapped Formation and Vanguard troops, they were the best of the elite infantry.

"Seriously? You're a grenadier?"

Despite his excitement, Home Alone did not forget to question him. NPCs in this game could lie, too. He had only recently learned that lesson.

"He's not lying."

The tavern keeper spoke up then. His large belly leading the way, he emerged from behind the bar and came over to Home Alone.

"Carlos really is one of the Bohemian Grenadiers. He retired and came home a year ago... Hey, Carlos, you haven't sold your armor for booze yet, have you?"

"No."

Carlos answered in a muffled grumble.

"It's at home."

"Go get it! You think a job paying thirty silver coins a month is that easy to come by?"

The tavern keeper barked at him, and Carlos obediently turned and headed outside.

Watching from the side, Home Alone could tell their relationship was unusual, even though he was still sheltered in the ivory tower of university life. The tavern keeper sounded exactly like an elder in his own family talking to a younger relative.

Once Carlos left, the plump, gray-haired tavern keeper turned to Home Alone. Explaining with an ingratiating smile, he handed him a beer.

"He's my older brother's son. He retired from the army last year. He's got a wife and a son at home. His son isn't married yet, so they need a lot of money to help him settle down and start a family.

He doesn't know any other trade. All he knows is soldiering and killing."

"Oh."

With Carlos gone, some of the others in the tavern wanted nothing to do with risking their necks, but a few desperately needed money.

"Hey, I... I'm a veteran too. I was a musketeer..."

"I'm a sword-and-shield soldier. I want twenty silver coins."

"Get lost! Since when were you a veteran? Weren't you working as a caravan guard until they fired you a month ago and you came slinking home?"

The tavern keeper shouted angrily, picking a fraud out from among the men offering their services and kicking him away.

The fraud did not dare argue. He turned and fled with his tail between his legs.

Home Alone paid little attention to this interruption. He had forgotten his actual task, too, and cheerfully chatted with the applicants.

During these conversations, Home Alone could see their individual attributes.

+Retired Bohemian reserve musketeer

Assessment: Proficient with the Bohemian twelve-millimeter matchlock. Can form a three-rank formation and equip a one-handed sword. Possesses some melee capability. Average morale.+

+Veteran retired Bohemian sword-and-shield soldier

Assessment: Can equip half plate armor, a one-handed sword, and a shield. Provides reliable flank protection for musketeers. Can charge independently. High morale.+

+Bohemian recruit

Assessment: Hmm, very high potential. Low morale.+

This was the player's private army system at work. Chris had taken a shortcut when creating the players' individual systems and directly reused the Protectorate player module. As a result, Home Alone had now activated it by accident.

Of course, Home Alone knew nothing about that. He was simply excited and amazed that the game designers had hidden a feature like this without even telling the players in the update notes.

This was just... fantastic!

With this system, Home Alone quickly identified the troop types and abilities of the five mercenaries. He was delighted, completely forgetting that he only had fifty silver coins in his pocket.

No problem. Being broke in the game didn't mean he was broke in real life.

Just then, Carlos returned. Home Alone looked up to see a burly man walking in, wearing ridged half plate armor and a pointed visor helmet, with a poleaxe in hand. His footsteps clanked.

Home Alone hurried over, and Carlos's personal panel popped up.

+Bohemian Grenadiers captain-Carlos

Assessment: Can equip bulletproof half plate armor, halberds, poleaxes, flintlocks, matchlocks, and grenades. High morale. Never routs. Melee champion. Anti-cavalry.+

Home Alone's eyes went wide. This NPC... Damn, not only was he an elite grenadier, but his troop panel even had his own name on it. This guy was definitely a hero unit!

"All right, thirty silver coins a month? I'll give you forty! You'll be my mercenary captain!"

In his excitement, Home Alone immediately announced it to everyone, drawing a chorus of startled cries.

"Really? Forty silver coins a month?"

Carlos himself seemed the least able to believe the news.

Home Alone was immediately displeased. How could you doubt my means? He promptly took out his purse and handed it straight to Carlos.

"Here. Fifty silver coins for the family allowance. Come back to camp with me later to collect the rice and cloth."

The silver coins rattled in the purse. Their clear clinking left Carlos stunned. Only after a while did he open the bag and take out two coins.

Both were good coins, with no scraping on their surfaces or clipped edges.

"Is the caravan hiring me, or are you?"

"I'm paying you. Just follow me and do what I say."

"Understood, boss."

Home Alone looked with great satisfaction at Carlos's name and portrait, which had appeared in his Retinue Interface.

"Come on, pick out your future subordinates. Take a look at these men."

"When do we leave?"

"We'll talk about that after the Spring Festival."