I Became the Commander in a Trash Game Who Copies Skills

Chapter 9. Mercenary Band (1)

I was sitting in a tavern.

The place is commonly known as the “Mercenary Guild Tavern.”

“Wahahaha!”

“So, about this deal…”

“That time, the Skeleton Wolf’s jawbone clamped down on my shoulder! But who am I? I yanked it right out and smashed that beast’s snout…!”

The pungent smell of liquor.

Ear-piercing shouts and curses.

A man twirling a dagger like an acrobat.

A bald guy with his head buried in a mug.

A prostitute seducing a mercenary by stroking his arm muscles, and a gambler with a flushed face going all-in on a bet.

The Mercenary Guild Tavern was the epitome of the “rough and chaotic bar” people often imagined.

At the same time, though it didn’t quite match the atmosphere, it also doubled as the administrative center of the mercenary guild.

“Customer number 216!”

I came here for business at that “administrative center.”

There were two matters to handle.

First, obtaining a formal mercenary badge.

Second, establishing a mercenary band.

“‘Form a mercenary band within a week and immediately carry out a reconnaissance mission,’ he said.”

This morning, Archduke Gabir sent me a letter with a commission.

The task was simple: reconnaissance and mop-up operations along the border.

Although the count’s army had driven out the forces of the Vampire Archduchy, they hadn’t conducted a thorough extermination.

Scattered across the vast borderlands, masterless undead still wandered aimlessly.

While they weren’t a significant threat to an army, they were more than dangerous enough for civilians.

If those creatures slipped across the border, merchants or villages could suffer great harm.

“The deadline’s tight… but well, if I got ten gold coins as an advance, I should be bowing in gratitude.”

That amount would’ve taken me at least half a year to earn as a freelance mercenary.

Thanks to Archduke Gabir, I saved more than six months’ worth of effort.

Moreover, completing this mission could unlock one of the major “achievements.”

The reward for that achievement? A “fixed trait.”

And not just any trait—one that’s on my essential list.

“Customer number 219!”

Finally, my number was called.

I stood up, grabbed my beer mug, and headed to the counter.

A clerk with dark circles under their eyes greeted me.

At a glance, they looked worn out from work fatigue.

“Hello, customer. How may I assist you?”

Even so, their customer service spiel didn’t feel much different from a 21st-century bank.

Filing away this tidbit of information—something I couldn’t have known from the game—I spoke.

“I’m here to get a new mercenary badge.”

“Reason for reissuance?”

“Lost it in a fight recently.”

The reissuance fee was one shilling.

I handed over a gleaming silver coin as naturally as possible,

trying to look like a seasoned mercenary to anyone watching.

Losing a badge in battle was, after all, a surprisingly common occurrence.

“Could you provide your name, specialization, and place of origin?”

“Ash. Mage. Gunterburk.”

I recited the fabricated identity I’d come up with last night without hesitation.

The clerk nodded and began rifling through documents.

Finally.

It was time to wash away my death-row convict status.

***

The world of Warlord Conquest was a society bound by a rigid caste system.

This held true across races and factions.

In such a world, establishing a faction naturally required a proper identity.

The prerequisite for founding a mercenary band was, of course, a “formal mercenary status.”

The problem was…

“I don’t have an identity right now.”

[You are Nameless Ash.]

[By the fate of a hero, save the world from its end.]

With those two lines from a notification window, I was thrown into this world.

No connections, no home, no money—not even a single carving knife. Just my bare body.

Since I was dragged to the execution grounds the moment I woke up, I needed a new identity to operate moving forward.

And the most critical part of a fabricated identity was the place of origin.

“A place where no one would suspect me. That’s the key.”

That’s why I chose a city.

Urban populations were overwhelmingly larger than rural ones.

Even if no one knew me, I could blend in easily enough.

Especially Gunterburk—a major city bordering the Theocracy and the City Alliance.

“…So, Gunterburk is your hometown, correct?”

“Correct.”

A wealthy, hedonistic city situated at the crossroads of three nations’ borders.

A haven for wanderers and refugees.

A city of two faces, Gunterburk was home to many orphans who grew up without knowing their parents’ faces.

That was the identity I chose to assume.

“A mercenary commander raised by a wandering mage, orphaned in Gunterburk.”

“…You’re not on our list.”

The clerk, after flipping through documents for a while, spoke with tired eyes.

Of course I wasn’t. That wasn’t a lie.

[I activate Lord’s Unyielding Mind.]

Handling this was simple.

All it took was locking eyes with intensity and saying one word.

“What?”

Adding a touch of the arrogance typical of mages made it even better.

“What did you just say?”

“W-Well, I mean…”

See that? The fatigue on the clerk’s face vanished in an instant.

When I slammed my staff on the floor, they flinched and their hands trembled.

The hidden ability of Lord’s Unyielding Mind amplified the sense of pressure.

It was like a natural fatigue remedy—an awakening agent with no side effects.

“I’m sorry, but… it seems there was an oversight in the administrative process.”

“Oversight? Are you joking right now?”

“I’m so sorry. Truly sorry. If it’s alright with you… would it be okay if we proceed with a new registration?”

The clerk’s voice trembled as they made the suggestion.

I glared at them and shot back.

“New registration? You’re telling me to start from apprentice again?”

“N-No, of course not! As a mage who participated in the Burken Fortress battle, your status is already guaranteed, so there’s no need to worry…”

“What about my past achievements? The missions I barely survived, nearly dying from mana exhaustion or with a blade at my throat? Are you going to compensate for those too?”

“…”

The clerk fell silent.

That was probably beyond their authority.

Well, it didn’t matter.

That last demand wasn’t something I expected to be met anyway.

Making an impossible demand once was just part of the game.

It was the basic negotiation tactic in Warlord Conquest.

“Tch. Figure it out.”

“Yes? Yes! Please wait just a moment!”

When I said that with a slightly calmer tone, relief washed over the clerk’s face.

As they scurried to the back, I took a sip of my beer.

“Good thing I learned magic before the last battle.”

In truth, demanding a formal mercenary badge outright didn’t always work.

Normally, you’d start with a wooden apprentice badge and work your way up to formal status after completing a few missions.

But my status as a mage—treated as quasi-nobility—helped.

And being a mage who survived the fierce siege of Burken Fortress? That sealed the deal.

In many ways, I owed a lot to my first “mentor.”

“Sorry for the wait. Your new mercenary badge has been issued.”

By the time I’d half-emptied my beer mug, the clerk returned and handed me the badge.

In this world, a mercenary badge was a palm-sized metal plate.

In the center, alongside the mercenary guild’s seal, my name “Ash” was engraved in imperial script.

They made it faster than I expected.

Probably got an earful in the back, though…

“Good work.”

It couldn’t be helped.

Only formal mercenaries could establish a mercenary band, after all.

“T-Thank you!”

I tipped a few coppers for their trouble, then entrusted them with another task.

They must’ve thought I was a demanding but generous customer, because their work became noticeably faster.

Thump! Thump!

Within minutes, my name was posted on the mercenary recruitment board.

Even putting up a single sheet of paper cost money.

Establishing a mercenary band alone cost five silver coins.

And there were additional fees for mediation.

“Good thing Archduke Gabir gave me that advance.”

With that, both of my major tasks were complete.

Now, only one issue remained.

Would anyone actually join my newly formed, no-name mercenary band?

“…This is why starting in the rear is better.”

Recruitment for mercenary bands or teams usually happened in rear areas.

Typically, greenhorns who didn’t know much about war were the ones chasing romantic notions of becoming mercenaries.

The problem was that Baron Burken’s domain, along with nearby estates, was close to the border.

The locals here knew the horrors of the battlefield all too well.

Considering all that, filling even the minimum roster within a week would be tight.

If things didn’t work out, I might have to settle for less-than-ideal recruits…

“Hey, isn’t that the mage commander! Hahaha! Where’ve you been hiding all this time? I thought you were dead!”

…Looks like things might work out after all.

***

The bearded bandit-looking guy who stood with me to hold the breach in the Burken defense battle.

In short, “Bandit Uncle.” His name was Brol.

“Remember that commander I was talking about? This is the guy!”

“Us? The archduke gave special leave to the units that fought well! Unlike that dead baron, he knows how to reward merit!”

“But seriously, where’ve you been these past few days? You’ve got no idea how many guys were asking for you!”

…His title just changed.

“Chatty Bandit Uncle Brol.”

Anyway, Brol approached with some soldiers from the baron’s army.

Some were under my command, others weren’t.

From what I heard, Bandit Uncle had connections with people from other units.

With his friendly personality, it’d be stranger if he didn’t have friends.

“A mercenary band? Not just a team, a band?”

“That’s how it is.”

“Why didn’t you say so sooner! I would’ve grabbed the first ticket!”

…Because I literally just formed it?

As soon as he heard I’d established a mercenary band, Brol slammed the table and stood up.

Before I could say anything, he stepped onto a chair and shouted.

His voice echoed through the noisy tavern.

“Alright, everyone, line up behind me! Ash’s Mercenary Band is recruiting! This commander, Captain Ash, is the legendary figure I’ve been talking about for days…!”

“…”

The embarrassment was all mine, huh?

Fine. Let’s think positively.

I needed publicity anyway, so consider it a megaphone acquired.

Sure enough, people started gathering soon after.

Whether it was Brol’s loud voice or his far-reaching connections, I wasn’t sure.

Most of those who came were soldiers from the baron’s army.

Among them, I recognized quite a few who’d fought alongside me.

“I’d like to join. I’m done serving under a baron who just exploits soldiers.”

“I think I’ve had enough of army rations too. Do I sign here?”

“Captain! You’re alive!”

One by one, names were added to the roster.

They signed contracts, got the mercenary guild’s stamp at the counter, and I set a meeting time and place while paying a month’s wages in advance.

Prepaying monthly salaries was a long-standing tradition in the mercenary world.

Apparently, too many mercenary captains who delayed paydays ended up with knives in their backs.

“On the flip side, some take the money and run… but I don’t need to worry about that.”

The mercenary guild handled contract violations.

I’d been burned a few times in the game, but it was easier to just quit and start over.

“Are you the last one?”

“Looks like it.”

“Tomorrow, 9 a.m., here.”

“Understood.”

The lively contract signing wrapped up in the late afternoon.

In just one day, Ash’s Mercenary Band had twenty-four names on its roster.

Most were soldiers who’d stood with me at the breach in the wall.

The rest were drawn in by Brol’s megaphone.

“By the way, it’s a shame. If Sir Terren were alive, he would’ve joined…”

As I submitted all the documents to the counter after finalizing the contracts, someone made a meaningful remark. I asked Brol about it.

“Terren? Oh, that knight fellow?”

“Knight?”

“You didn’t know? Well, makes sense. He was originally a commander in another unit. No idea why he came to ours as an adjutant that day…”

Adjutant Terren.

A soldier who greatly helped me command the unit I was assigned by the baron.

He was the only one who showed loyalty to me, a parachuted-in commander, from the start.

But…

“I heard he died in the battle at the gate. Seemed like a good guy. Such a shame. His urn’s probably at the fortress with the other fallen, like the rest.”

…He didn’t make it.

***

I arrived at Burken Fortress as the sun was setting.

After nightfall, entry was prohibited, but a gate guard who recognized my face opened a side door for me.

“Don’t come out too late. My shift ends in an hour.”

“Thanks.”

His name… I couldn’t recall.

I think he was with the swordsmen unit.

If I had to make an excuse, it’s because the swordsmen were positioned behind the spearmen.

In the chaos of battle, remembering the names of every soldier behind me wasn’t easy.

Step. Step.

The urns of the fallen were placed in a corner of the fortress.

After fighting vampires, bodies were cremated and bones ground to dust to prevent necromancy.

Hundreds of urns containing ashes and keepsakes were gathered in a small clearing.

They’d soon be sent to the families of the deceased.

While searching for a nameplate, I soon stopped in my tracks.

“…So you really died.”

Low-ranking knight Terren.

Commander of the 6th Swordsmen Unit of Baron Burken’s Army.

Just two lines were written on the wooden nameplate.

No hometown, no family, no friends or lovers mentioned.

“…”

I felt a complicated mix of emotions.

For a while, I paced in front of the urn.

“Terren. Terren.”

I’d seen countless soldiers die.

After a major battle, thousands of casualties were standard.

[I activate Lord’s Unyielding Mind.]

Even if it was just through a monitor.

I thought it wouldn’t be much different now that it was reality.

With the Lord’s Unyielding Mind trait, nothing could harm my psyche.

“…Damn it.”

So why did I feel this way?

Why did this suffocating feeling linger?

Even now, long after the battle ended.

The reality of death seemed to creep closer.

Not just data fragments, but the death of a person.

The extinction of an individual.

Someone who left vivid traces in others’ memories…

But those memories would never continue to the next scene.

“I heard from Brol. You were a knight. No wonder your spearwork was a bit sloppy. Still, you fought well. Must’ve been your solid fundamentals.”

In front of Terren’s urn, I rambled whatever came to mind.

Thinking about it, I knew so little about him.

Where he was from.

How old he was when he joined the army.

What hobbies he enjoyed during downtime.

Why a knight hid his status and served under me.

“Thanks to you, we held the fortress.”

It wasn’t just Terren.

Among the soldiers I saw at the tavern, some faces were hazy in my memory.

I still couldn’t recall the name of the guard who opened the side door.

These were comrades I fought shoulder-to-shoulder with just days ago.

“…Sorry.”

I apologized without thinking.

“I’ll do my best to keep the rest alive.”

I made a promise even I wasn’t sure I could keep.

“…”

Only then did I feel a bit at ease.

Whether I could fully accept this world as reality, see it the way the locals did, I still didn’t know.

But I understood one thing.

Just as much as I wanted to live, they wanted to live too.

Having a hometown to return to and family to miss—it was the same for all of us.

I searched for the nameplates of the fallen listed on the roster Brol gave me.

After a brief moment of mourning, I turned around and saw an unexpected figure looking at me.

“Sir Olif.”

The upright, white-haired disciplinarian.

High-ranking knight Olif.

“I’m sorry. I doubted you.”

He knelt.

“I sincerely apologize.”