Record of Wortenia War: Volume 2

by Ryota Hori

  In other words, there were few opportunities to fight bare-handed. There was no legislation or regulation when it came to carrying weapons, so that was probably obvious. And within this world, the battlefield was where one fought empty-handed the most.

  Of course, no fool would head into the battlefield unarmed, but apart from a very small percentage, any weapon would eventually be worn out, no matter how expensive and well-made it was. Bladed weapons get nicked and chipped as they cut through their foe, and the blood spilled gradually dulls the blade.

  And furthermore, in the midst of melee combat, it wasn’t uncommon for one’s weapons to get deflected and knocked out of their hands. At times like this, one’s last resort was one’s trained body. Branzo himself snuffed out quite a few lives on the battlefield with his own bare hands.

  “All right, then. Begin!” Lione’s voice echoed through the maneuvering grounds.

  At that moment, Branzo sprinted forward as if sliding across the earth, covering the distance between the two in a moment.

  Wail like the cretin you are. This is for slighting me.

  With a cruel smile on his lips, his body of nearly two-hundred kilograms traveled with the speed of a lightweight boxer. This phenomenon was physically impossible. He’d clearly reinforced his body with martial thaumaturgy.

  But Ryoma didn’t so much as furrow a brow. His heart remained frozen solid with unwavering determination.

  “Die, you shitty little brat!”

  Shouting with murder and hatred in his voice, Branzo swung his right fist, intending to smash it into Ryoma’s face with a punch that could pulverize solid rock.

  The surrounding mercenaries held their breaths. If the punch were to land, Ryoma’s face would be crushed like a pomegranate.

  But what happened next exceeded their expectations.

  Ryoma perfectly perceived the fist’s trajectory. True, martial thaumaturgy reinforced one to go beyond their normal limits, but it did nothing to change the fundamental structure of the human body. The enemy’s joints couldn’t move any further than they usually could, and the natural weak points of one’s body didn’t disappear.

  Thaumaturgy could act to reinforce one’s physical abilities, but so long as the opponent had the timing down, it was perfectly possible to avoid the blow.

  Moving in accordance to the movement of Branzo’s shoulder, Ryoma moved his left leg forward, maneuvering his body to his opponent’s flank. Wind pressure equivalent to that of a 1-ton truck passing him by whipped around him as he moved.

  The strength of that punch was overwhelming, indeed. But just like a speeding car couldn’t brake at a moment’s notice, the stronger his brandished fist was, the harder it would be for Branzo to maintain his posture if his attack was avoided.

  Now!

  Ryoma grabbed Branzo’s right wrist as he staggered from the miss, pulling it toward his chest, and then moved his own body right, locking the joints of the wrist while pulling his body down backwards.

  It was the same timing he had knocked his grandfather down countless times with— a timing his grandfather had beat into him repeatedly. It was a technique he’d only ever used in his daily training sessions, but it worked perfectly on an opponent like Branzo.

  From Ryoma’s perspective, he was just an amateur who constantly boasted of his strength. True, he was a veteran mercenary with the experience of killing many a foe with his bare hands and the skill to achieve it.

  But this wasn’t the battlefield. It was a one-on-one match where you wouldn’t need to mind your surroundings the same way you would in the chaotic field of battle, so the fighting style in this situation by either side would naturally differ.

  “What?!”

  “Impossible, he’s so huge...!”

  It was a maneuver similar to a sumiotoshi in judo, though no one present here could know that. From their perspective, what Ryoma had just pulled off was effectively magic.

  And it made even more sense that Ryoma chose to employ a throwing technique over a blow.

  The mercenaries watching over the battle raised their voices in shock. Branzo’s massive form rotated through the air, and the back of his head crashed against the ground as he was slammed down. Normally, during training Ryoma would simply pull by the arm and lift the opponent over his head, but real combat called for a different measure.

  The blow to his head from the merciless throw against the ground left Branzo’s consciousness foggy, with his eyes lightless and unfocused. His trained body and weight of nearly 200 kilograms kept his neck bones from snapping, but no amount of training would protect the brain from such a blow. Branzo lay sprawled on the ground.

  It’s over.

  Ryoma walked over without a word, swooping down on Branzo’s neck mercilessly to deliver the finishing blow. Ryoma felt an odd sensation under his foot. It didn’t matter how powerful Branzo’s body was; Ryoma’s low kick, supported by a weight of over one hundred kilograms, pressed down on his neck, one of the human body’s weak points.

  With not just his windpipe but his cervical vertebrae stomped out, his body spasmed once before sinking into eternal stillness.

  Silence fell over the maneuvering grounds. No one spoke a word. The exchange took a mere moment. Barely ten or so seconds had passed since Lione gave them the signal to start.

  Eventually, after confirming that Branzo was dead, Ryoma quietly raised his right hand skyward.

  ““““Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooh!””””

  Having seen Ryoma’s victory, the mercenaries raised their voices in a cheer that sounded more like a battle cry.

  I guess everything went according to yer script... Lione smiled bitterly, watching Ryoma respond to the mercenaries’ cheering with a smile.

  He’d stomped out a presence they universally feared and loathed right in front of everyone’s eyes. It was a cunning ploy, employed across all places and time periods, but few methods were as effective at buying other people’s trust. And on top of that, the prey sacrificed here was someone sent to claim his life. Gran’s suggestion was the epitome of killing two birds with one stone.

  The only doubt was whether Ryoma could win, but that fear was deftly proven to be unfounded.

  Yer one scary kid. Didn’t think ya were hiding fangs this sharp...

  She’d been briefed on what would happen, but Lione never imagined such an overwhelming victory. And it was only natural she wouldn’t. Ryoma would lose to Branzo had they met on a battlefield, as a matter of fact. Only Ryoma could accept this turn of events as if it was the obvious conclusion.

  “They ain’t doing anything for the time being... But I guess after seeing that, they’d have no choice but to turn around real quiet and run away with their tails between their legs...”

  Lione whispered, looking around anxiously at the cheering crowd.

  Even Lione, popular as she was among the mercenaries, didn’t believe a promise without any guarantees. Even if Ryoma and Lione had no intention of foul play, Branzo could have well tried to pull something. He may have been confident he would win against Ryoma, but any imbecile who didn’t account for such risks couldn’t make it as a mercenary.

  In all likelihood, some of the mercenaries present were connected to Branzo, and the ringleader who hired him to kill Ryoma...

  “Now no one will see him as a greenhorn amateur. All according to the plan.”

  Lione’s lips contorted silently at the words spoken behind her back.

  She sensitively picked up on the meaning behind Gran’s words. But she simply answered without turning around.

  “I s’ppose. All that’s left is to hear yer guys’ answer.”

  “An answer, eh... Ain’t that just a formality at this point?” Gran shrugged in jest, and everyone around him laughed out loud.

  None of the people here would be capable of single-handedly besting Branzo the Black Spider in battle. Ryoma Mikoshiba’s abilities were evident to all.

  But Lione’s lips took on a nasty smirk.
r />   “Still, I’m gonna need t’hear ya say it loud and clear.”

  It seemed she still held a grudge over him doubting her judgment back at the pub.

  “Fine, fine.” Gran shook his head and said with a sigh. “We were wrong. Your judgment was sound...”

  That was the final proof Ryoma had successfully won over Gran and the other mercenaries.

  “So? What do we do now?”

  Lione, who had appeared next to Ryoma at some point, whispered those words into his ear.

  “We win the war, of course. And make Lupis the ruler of this country. I’ll have to work everyone here in all sorts of ways to get that done.”

  Ryoma’s answer put a sharp glimmer into Lione’s eyes. She’d picked up on the meaning behind his words.

  “All sorts of ways... I see. So that’s what you collected this many people for.”

  “Something like that, yeah. There are still a few points where I’m not quite sure how to make use of everyone, but I don’t intend to make anyone come out of this with a loss. No matter which way the chips fall... You get me?”

  As Ryoma met the mercenaries’ excited cheering, a cold smile played over his lips.

  Epilogue

  As the evening sun began to sink into the western skies, one old man with his white hair tied behind his head stood in his residential lawn and continued his daily training, wooden sword in hand.

  But his swings were anything but ordinary. His sharp gaze perceived some invisible enemy, and each of his swings was charged with true murderous intent as they cut through the air. His stance was far beyond that of a man who had physically honed himself through martial arts as a hobby. And he wasn’t practicing this out of self-defense, either.

  This training was for the sole purpose of killing one’s enemy.

  “Grandpa...”

  Hearing that voice call for him from behind, Kouichiro Mikoshiba stopped his swinging. His upper arm was thicker than one would imagine such an old man’s arm could be, and while his height was ordinary enough at 175 centimeters, his shoulders were wide and his chest was thick; most likely the fruits of training every day with a wooden sword.

  “Asuka... So it’s that time already, is it?” Propping his wooden sword against the veranda, Kouichiro wiped the sweat off his face with a smile.

  His navy-blue kendo gi was moist and stained with large amounts of sweat, even turning white from concentrations of salt in some points.

  “Yeah, dinner’s almost ready...”

  “Right... Thanks again, as always. Give my regards to your mother for me.”

  Removing her favorite pink apron, which had a caricature of a cat printed at its end, Asuka nodded at Kouichiro’s words and then asked him a question hesitantly.

  “Say, Grandpa... Have you thought about what I asked the other day?”

  Kouichiro scratched his cheek awkwardly at her question.

  “About me moving in with you? I appreciate the offer, lass, but I’ll have to decline.”

  “But why?! Mom said you’re always welcome... And besides, even Grandma’s...”

  Kouichiro met Asuka’s exclamation with an inexplicably wry smile. He knew they didn’t make that offer out of desire for his fortune, which couldn’t be said for some of the other hyenas in the family. With his son and his wife gone, the only ones who truly supported him as he painstakingly raised his biological grandson, Ryoma, were his sister and her daughter’s family.

  But it was because he knew their offer was sincere that Kouichiro couldn’t agree to Asuka’s proposal.

  “I’m sorry...”

  He had one clear reason to not live with them, but it wasn’t one he could share with this kind girl. If he did, she and her family could very well end up being caught up in a whirlwind of catastrophe. Kouichiro had to reject her offer precisely because he held her so dear.

  “Grandpa, I’m... I’m scared.” Asuka whispered in fright, drooping her head with a shadow hanging over her normally unyielding expression.

  “Scared of what?” Kouichiro asked Asuka gently, though he had already partially known the answer to his own question.

  “That you might disappear all of a sudden, just like Ryoma did...”

  It had been nearly six months since Ryoma Mikoshiba vanished without a trace from his high school. A sudden disappearance in broad daylight, in a perfectly normal public school. But still, the police could do nothing, since no correlation to an incident of any kind could be found.

  There was little chance he could have been abducted by someone from outside the school in the middling timeframe of a lunch break within the closed premises of the school, especially considering he was a hulking young man standing over 190 centimeters tall and weighing over 100 kilograms. It was perhaps natural, then, that upon receiving news of his disappearance, the police concluded that even if there was a chance he might have perpetrated a crime, it was unlikely that he had been a victim of one.

  Every year, many people go missing for any number of reasons. The circumstances are many, ranging from stress over bullying and interpersonal relationships to financial problems, but 100,000 people every year are merely reported to the police as having “gone missing.” In the eyes of the police, so long as a case can’t be correlated to some kind of incident, they have to assume the missing person simply ran away, and would honestly prefer to wash their hands of the case.

  Of course, if this was about a young boy or girl, they’d have treated the situation differently, but since the missing person in question was a buff high-schooler, the possibility of abduction was remote; as such, the matter was given low priority.

  “I’m sorry...” Kouichiro repeated his reply once more.

  Seeing Asuka, a girl whom he saw as his own granddaughter, had reduced him to muttering nothing more than words of apology.

  And that was because Kouichiro knew where Ryoma Mikoshiba had disappeared to.

  But if he were to say so aloud, no one would believe him... Claiming he was summoned to another world would change nothing. After all, a method of crossing on one’s own from this world— that is, Rearth— to the other world— that is, Earth— was unknown. Claiming it was an alien abduction would sound more credible than that.

  A gentle smile surfaced on Kouichiro’s lips. The grandson he’d lovingly raised, trained in anachronistic techniques and fostered the heart of a warrior in... He’d always prayed the day he would need those skills to defend himself and survive would never come, but now, they would surely come to serve him.

  This is all my fault... Forgive me, Ryoma. Not just your mother and father, but even you, their child, must bear that price.

  Even while he understood that he was the source of this tragedy, Kouichiro had no choice but to hold his silence...

  Afterword

  I doubt there would be any newcomers at this point, but welcome to all those who have picked up Record of Wortenia War for the first time. And to the readers who have been with it since Volume 1, welcome back. This is Hori Ryota, the author.

  For those of you who like to read the afterword first before going into the book, I’d like to discuss the contents of this volume and why I decided to write this kind of story. To start with, the second volume’s primary concept and biggest theme is factional dispute.

  Not just in human society, but in the animal world as well, multiple individuals flock together to form a group, and factions are ultimately created. This is true of all places and times— it is a phenomenon that takes place in any and all types of organizations.

  Perhaps the simplest example would be a school. For instance, once you graduate from a school, you would be called an alumnus of that school. But of course, even alumni who share a common alma mater are divided into further cliques based on what year they graduated in, and those are further divided into specific classes or different clubs.

  When taken to the most logical extreme, one’s circle of friends and acquaintances can be seen as a clique all its own. Nowadays, factions are a major
concern when it comes to politics, and some politicians openly present themselves as non-partisan.

  Such things occur because of the many disadvantages associated with dividing others into factions and cliques, but other points of view will cite the advantages these organizations present. While democracy and its focus on the rule of the majority makes this idea particularly obvious, it’s worth noting that even in absolute monarchies and feudal systems, it holds a great degree of sway.

  When taking a close examination of history, one can find that in most cases, even in systems where a king holds absolute power, it’s questionable how much power he actually has all on his own.

  And so, the story of Volume 2 and the Rhoadserian civil war was intended to highlight this irrefutable law of the human world.

  Now, while politics are an important matter to discuss, the more crucial part to discuss is that Volume 2 marks the introduction of the “war record” elements to the story, such as war, strategy and scheming. Still, our protagonist is still mostly plotting things behind the scenes, so you’ll have to wait a little more for those exciting combat scenes you’re looking forward to, dear readers. But I’d be grateful if you stay patient and consider this to be part of the nature of this work. As those of you who have read the web novel will know, Volume 3 is where the war record elements start to pick up.

  Now, time to address what you’ve been expecting the most— information about the upcoming Volume 3.

  Incidentally, as I’m writing this afterword, Volume 2 is set to be released in late December. Volume 1 came out in September, so it takes roughly three months to release a single volume. With this calculation, I intend to release four volumes a year.

  Of course, keeping the current pace depends on everyone involved in the making of the series, so things are a bit hard to predict, but I don’t intend to have you wait too long to see what comes next. I personally hope to be able to maintain the pace of putting out four volumes a year.