Mob №112 “But you’ll at least let me nominate and request you for mercenary work, right?”
“There’s no way you could get compensation for something like that.”
The owner of that voice was General Jack Baldor Breskin, who had previously saved me from Rior Barnnext’s recruitment.
“B… Breskin-lord…”
As a noble, Stridum Bissen the Count’s son couldn’t possibly not know his face, and his body stiffened completely.
“You, what’s your name?”
“St… Stridum Bissen!”
Bissen the Count’s son seems quite intimidated by the presence of the General himself, a noble of higher rank than his father and a trained military man.
I thought he shouldn’t be that scared since he’s also a mercenary, but perhaps because he’s a noble, he can understand the fearsome nature of General Breskin, who is a Marquis.
“I see, Count Bissen’s son. Listen, you—it’s pathetic that you can’t even talk to one woman yourself. You should do at least that much yourself. And trying to shake down money from someone unrelated is way too convenient.”
The General is complaining not about him trying to take compensation from me, but about him not talking to a woman himself.
“B-but… this guy is a commoner, and a colonial…”
“Is that it? You can do it because your status and position are higher?”
“That’s right! Exactly!”
Bissen the Count’s son, while intimidated, makes his assertion.
And the moment he rejoices that his assertion is understood by the General—
“Then there’s no problem if I shake down all your assets, right?”
—an unexpected response from the General makes Bissen the Count’s son look extremely shocked.
“Huh? Why…”
“I’m an ennobled Marquis myself. You’re just an Count’s son and don’t hold a peerage. I’m clearly higher in status and position, right?”
Even among nobles, there’s a clear difference between the person who holds the title and family members of titled individuals.
For example, between a Marquis’s son and a Baron himself, the Baron himself has the higher position.
Furthermore, in this case, the title rank is also higher, so Bissen the Count’s son is absolutely subordinate.
“Come on. Hand over all your assets quickly, will you?”
“I-I’m sorry! Please forgive me!”
He’s intimidating him intensely, but that’s clearly just playing around for fun, right?
Then, to the extremely intimidated Bissen the Count’s son—
“Then first, apologize to him.”
—he urged him to apologize to me.
“I-I’m terribly sorry!”
He reacted like a spring and apologized to me.
“Please don’t do things like this in the future.”
Normally, with everything that’s happened, I’d like to punch him at least, but the aftermath revenge would be troublesome, so I just gave him a warning.
“I-I understand! Excuse me!”
Bissen the Count’s son leaves the scene as if fleeing, perhaps from fear of the General.
He’s probably cursing in his heart though.
After confirming that Bissen the Count’s son was completely gone, I first thank the General for helping me.
“Thank you for helping me out of that trouble.”
“Are there many guys like that?”
“Quite a few. Well, maybe I’m just easy to pick on.”
“That’s a troublesome thing…”
The General strokes his chin while glaring in the direction Bissen the Count’s son fled.
Then he slowly turns toward me—
“Alright. If you’re grateful, come with me for a bit.”
—and floats a beast-like smile.
And so, the General brought me to a bar in the spaceport’s entertainment district, with only counter seats lined up and slow music playing, giving off a calm atmosphere.
Sitting at the counter, the General orders expensive-looking whiskey on the rocks.
Since soft drinks don’t suit the bar atmosphere, I order beer for now.
After taking a sip of beer, I ask about something I’ve been curious about, though I’d heard some details from Gonzales about the events leading to the request.
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“So it was you milord who made the request to Starden Company after all?”
“No. A while back, I happened to meet David at a bar. At that time, he consulted me about wanting to hire escorts for transportation because he was buying up local products cheap, asking how he should manage it. When I lightly threatened him that moving boldly would get him targeted by pirates, he said, ‘That’s why I’m consulting you. To hire escorts who won’t lose to pirates. What, can’t do it?’ We’d both been drinking quite a bit. So I said back on impulse, ‘Of course I can!’ Thanks to that, I was handed a list of participating mercenaries and, despite having regular paperwork to do, I spent until morning creating shifts while looking at documents. I thought they’d better become a recruiting ground for talent to make it worth it.”
The General recalls that time and shows a disgusted expression.
David is probably the president of Starden Company.
“So that’s why the request was for Knight Rank and above.”
“Yeah. Most of the vicious ones had been dealt with already. If those Hornets hadn’t shown up, nobody should have died.”
The General shows a regretful expression and sighs while tilting his whiskey.
But I end up asking about the content of that statement.
“You knew about the Hornet squad?”
“They’re a mercenary unit with sighting reports from various battlefields. There was almost no information, but we planned to scout them. But, if they attacked as pirates, we can’t scout them anymore.”
The General sighs in exasperation and tilts his whiskey.
Then, turning toward me—
“By the way, you. Previously you received a military recruitment from a classmate, but has your thinking changed since then?”
As expected, he’s recruiting me for the military.
“I’m not suited for the military. My thinking hasn’t changed.”
“For our part, we’d like to secure you, since you took down Blue Hornet.”
While I decline with a wry smile, the General floats another beast-like grin.
“Please give me a break…”
Frankly, I’m terrified, but I can’t run away.
“Ha ha ha! Well, even if we force someone who’s unwilling to enlist, they won’t work enthusiastically. This time, let’s say the one in the report is who took down Blue Hornet.”
The General laughs lightly, drinks down his whiskey, and places his hand heavily on my shoulder.
“But you’ll at least let me nominate and request you for mercenary work, right?”
This is one of those things.
It’s a threat-request saying: I’ll give up on recruiting you to the military, so prioritize my requests and don’t refuse.
Well, it’s better than joining the military, and if I genuinely can’t accept, he’ll probably understand.
“Understood. If there’s a request and I can accept it, I’ll take it…”
“Oh! That’s great! I’m counting on you!”
While saying that, he slaps my back repeatedly, making me momentarily unable to breathe.
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