The Heavenly Demon Is Just Stuck In My Head

I left Baron Barankia’s domain and walked east without any particular plan.

To my surprise, the journey was peaceful.

And that made sense.

Not even a day had passed since I killed the baron. If word had already spread so far that enemies were blocking my path, now that would’ve been strange.

Rumors, no matter how fast they travel, still need time.

Barankia’s lands were pressed against the westernmost edge of the Blake Kingdom. I had no choice but to head east.

So, like a carefree wanderer, I hummed a tune and strolled along the forest path.

As I walked, I called out to Heavenly Demon as though handing in homework.

“Master.”

[What is it.]

“What did you think?”

I was asking his thoughts on last night’s battle.

He had remained silent through it all, only watching, so I was curious about his opinion.

What had been lacking, what had been decent.

What I should improve on, and what I should focus my training toward.

A swordsman grows by surviving life-and-death struggles.

This was my daily feedback session, in a sense.

Though Heavenly Demon often dismissed me as pitiful and worthless, he wasn’t always unfair.

At times he admitted something wasn’t bad, or that it was passable, even offering the occasional phrase that almost sounded like praise.

…Of course, such praise was rarer than a phoenix feather.

Still, I half-expected both scolding and praise as I waited for his reply.

But what came out of his mouth was neither.

[That was fun.]

“…Huh? Fun?”

Heavenly Demon sounded uncharacteristically lighthearted, almost excited.

[No play compares to this. Watching a madman swing his sword is surprisingly entertaining. It goes perfectly with a drink. A hundred times more amusing than seeing those sanctimonious cult bastards bow their heads day after day.]

“Not that! I’m asking about my Night Sky Star Moon Art. What did you think? What was lacking, what do I need to work on—”

He ignored me completely, still chuckling.

[They say there’s nothing better than watching a fight—and they were right. Even your occasional nonsense made it more entertaining.]

“…Master, seriously?”

So while I was risking my life, he had been enjoying himself like a noble in the front row of a play, chewing on jerky with a cup of wine.

Wait—where the hell had he gotten jerky and wine inside my own consciousness?

Heavenly Demon chuckled, voice tinged with amusement.

[So this is why they trained disciples. I see now. More entertaining than I expected.]

My mortal struggle had been nothing more than his drinking snack.

[Being stuck in your head was irritating, but I suppose this will at least be a bit of amusement.]

“…So, no real advice?”

[Fight more often. And talk more nonsense.]

“…Damn it.”

With no help from him, I could only replay last night’s battle in my head, reflecting on it as I walked.

I followed the road eastward.

By sundown, the outline of walls came into view.

The entire village was encircled by stone walls—larger than Barankia’s domain had been.

At the base, a gate. Guards standing watch.

People passed through after showing something—identification, presumably.

“Hm…”

I approached, slipping a mercenary tag from my clothes.

The tarnished silver plate glinted faintly in my hand.

Silver rank.

Proof I could take down a C-rank beast on my own—and also proof of the limit for those without mana.

‘At this point, I could probably qualify for gold rank.’

I brushed a thumb across the tag that had accompanied me for years, then looked toward the gate.

“…Will they accept this here?”

Chances were slim.

Mercenary tags were issued by guilds of each kingdom, and cultures varied from country to country.

Naturally, so did their recognition of credentials.

But I couldn’t very well sleep outside.

So I walked up to the gate like everyone else.

The guard blocked my path.

“Halt. Identification.”

I flashed my tag quickly before pulling it back.

“Well?”

“…”

The guard stared at me like I was mocking him.

“First time here? You’re supposed to hold it out properly.”

“…”

“Bad eyes, maybe? Show it again.”

I did the same trick again—flash, gone.

This time I even grumbled like a seasoned traveler.

“I’m in a hurry. Just let me through. Not my first inspection, you know.”

“…”

The guard, dutiful and utterly inflexible, merely held out his hand.

“Identification.”

Like it was a final verdict.

‘Not buying it, huh.’

I clicked my tongue inwardly.

“…Here.”

I reluctantly placed the tag in his palm.

He frowned, tilting his head, staring between me and the plate.

I put on the most confident face I could. Confidence carried you halfway.

“Problem?”

“…Wait here.”

He walked over to his comrades.

Soon after, a group of guards returned with him.

The senior, a middle-aged man, examined the plate.

“Silver rank mercenary… Ashuban, correct?”

I nodded.

“Correct.”

“This is a Maia Kingdom plate. You from Maia?”

I nodded again.

“Long journey.”

“How’d you get here?”

I pointed vaguely toward the Misty Cliffs still visible in the distance.

“That way.”

“…You climbed down the Misty Cliffs?”

I replied with all seriousness.

“I said it was a hard journey.”

They stared at me like I was insane. Some even snickered.

The senior glanced at the tag again.

“Sherwood Mercenary Corps, Ashuban?”

“That’s right.”

I confirmed without hesitation.

The guards burst out laughing.

I scowled.

“What’s so funny?”

The senior grinned.

“Sherwood? The one with Guston the Greatsword?”

Ah. As expected of our captain. His fame had reached even here.

I nodded proudly.

“Our captain, the one and only. His beard’s a mess, but he’s still our pride.”

The man chuckled, then shoved the tag against my chest.

“Get lost.”

“Get lost? Where?”

“If you’re going to forge documents, at least put in some effort. This is sloppy.”

“…What?”

“Never seen anyone forge a Maia plate before. Thought slapping a famous name on it would get you through?”

I narrowed my eyes.

“So if I’d used another mercenary corps, you’d let me in?”

“No.”

“Tch. Uptight.”

“If you were really a mercenary, you’d have gotten a local plate from the guild here first.”

“…Ah.”

Right. I’d never traveled abroad before. Guess you learned something new with every trip.

“This wasn’t exactly a planned descent, you know.”

They laughed again.

The senior waved me away.

“Must’ve landed on your head when you fell. Off you go before we have to bother with trouble.”

I shrugged.

“Fair enough.”

Tucking the tag away, I turned without regret.

“Take care.”

“You too.”

I’d half-expected rejection anyway.

Plan B was already in mind.

Heavenly Demon finally spoke.

[So, you’ll sleep outside?]

“No.”

[Then?]

“There’s always another way.”

If an old fortress stood, there was bound to be a hole somewhere.

I circled the wall, eyes sharp for an opening.

And then I saw it.

A child stood in the road ahead, arms folded, staring at me with utmost seriousness.

He’d been waiting.

I stopped in front of him.

“…”

“…”

For a moment, we simply stared into each other’s eyes, silent.

The boy pointed at me with a grave expression, then jabbed his thumb twice toward the city wall.

You. Want to get inside?

Matching his seriousness, I pointed at myself, then jabbed my thumb twice toward the wall as well.

Me. Want to get inside.

He nodded once.

Confirmed.

The boy walked up to the wall, pulled aside a loose plank, and revealed a small hole hidden beneath. He looked back at me.

This. Right?

I nodded, then pointed at the hole.

That. Right.

He tilted his head toward it.

Go first.

I nodded.

Okay.

Like smugglers exchanging secret signals, we came to an understanding. I crawled into the hole first, the boy covering the entrance behind us before following through.

Once inside the city, I brushed the dirt from my clothes while he replaced the boards over the hole. Then he gestured with his chin.

Follow me.

I nodded again.

Okay.

There’s always a clever kid like this, wherever you go.

He led me straight to an inn with a strange name painted above the door: The Hungry Gypsy.

What the hell kind of name was that? Did it mean they welcomed wanderers?

The boy pushed the door open like it was his own home and called out,

“One guest!”

Ah, so that was the unspoken rule. Sneak someone in through the wall, and they stay at your family’s inn.

A trade.

The problem?

…I didn’t have a single coin.

The smell of food hit me the moment I stepped inside.

It wasn’t a large place, but it was lively, filled with patrons eating.

They glanced at me briefly before returning to their meals.

“Welcome.”

The burly man behind the counter, likely the innkeeper, wiped his hands on a towel and asked,

“Meal first?”

“Sounds good.”

I sat down at an empty table.

“Bring me your best. And a pint of ale.”

The innkeeper nodded.

“How many nights?”

“One.”

“Hot bath too?”

“Of course.”

“That’ll be one silver, seven copper.”

I downed the water the boy had brought and said,

“I’ll pay when I leave.”

The innkeeper cut me off flatly.

“Up front.”

“…”

I locked eyes with him.

The room quieted a little.

“So, you don’t trust me?”

“It’s not about trust. That’s the rule. Please understand.”

“Rules are meant to be broken.”

“…No. Rules are meant to be followed.”

The innkeeper looked at me like I was out of my mind.

Before the standoff could continue, the boy asked bluntly,

“Mister, you don’t have money?”

I gave him a sage-like tone.

“Money comes and goes, kid.”

“So right now you don’t?”

“Pure coincidence.”

“…”

“…”

Their eyes grew cold.

I calmly took another sip of water.

“As I said, money comes and goes. I’ll pay before I leave tomorrow.”

The innkeeper’s face hardened.

“Sorry. We don’t do tabs. Out.”

I sighed.

“Fine. I understand your position.”

Thunk.

I pulled a silver mercenary tag from my coat and set it on the table.

“Here. My mercenary tag. Take it as collateral. Real silver—it’ll fetch at least five silvers if you melt it down.”

The boy picked it up and handed it over.

The innkeeper examined it suspiciously, glancing between me and the tag.

“A format I’ve never seen. You from abroad?”

“Something like that. Now, when’s that meal coming?”

After another long moment, he finally gave a reluctant nod and went to the kitchen.

“…It’ll be out soon.”

The next morning, I left the inn at first light.

Two errands to run: an ID, and money.

And I knew just the place to handle both.

“Kid. Where’s the mercenary guild?”

The boy’s name, I’d learned, was Fabio.

But to me, he was just “the kid.”

Because that’s what he was.

“The mercenary guild?”

“Yeah.”

He stared up at me and asked,

“You really a mercenary?”

“Of course. A rough and free soul. You saw my tag yesterday.”

“I thought it was fake.”

“You thought it was fake? Then why’d you accept it as collateral?”

“The silver looked real.”

I stared at the cheeky brat for a moment, then asked again,

“So. Where’s the guild? I need that tag back.”

Fabio shrugged, then led the way.

“This way.”

Soon we arrived at a shabby building.

“That’s it.”

I nodded.

“Alright. You can go now.”

But the kid just lingered, staring at me.

“What? You can leave.”

“I’ll just watch.”

“Suit yourself.”

Creak—

I pushed open the door.

All eyes turned to me.

Some recognized the boy.

“Isn’t that Fabio, the innkeeper’s kid?”

“Fabio! What are you doing here? If you keep hanging around, your dad won’t like it.”

“I’m guiding a guest,” he replied.

“A guest?”

Now all eyes shifted to me.

“Hmph.”

Unbothered, I strode inside, taking in the place.

Every step made the old wooden floor groan.

Quest boards, reception desk, rough-looking mercenaries, the stale smell of sweat and booze—

Yes. This was familiar.

A mercenary guild.

I couldn’t help but smile.

Like meeting old friends in a strange land.

As I took it all in, a hulking brute suddenly blocked my path.

“New face.”

I nodded.

“Handsome face, too. Rare, I know.”

The guild erupted in laughter.

I scowled.

“…Funny?”

“Should we cry instead?”

The brute shoved his ugly mug in close.

Others snickered from their seats, watching.

“Really now…”

A chuckle escaped me.

Mercenaries were the same everywhere.

If no one tested the newcomer, I’d honestly have been disappointed.

This was their greeting ritual. A crude “welcome.”

And strangely enough, it felt… warm. Like being home again.

The brute leaned closer, lowering his voice.

“What if we don’t like your laugh? Hm? Gonna hit me? Go ahead. Then whatever happens is on you.”

His buddies cackled.

“Don’t scare him too much, Dogon!”

“He might cut his own fingers off pulling a blade, hahaha!”

The carefree, reckless atmosphere of mercenaries—

Men who’d drink, laugh, sing, fight, maybe die tomorrow, and not give a damn.

I liked it.

So I grinned and slapped Dogon across the cheek like a friendly high-five.

Of course, with a healthy dose of internal energy.

“Nice to meet you too!”

Smack!

The sound cracked through the guild like thunder.

The brute crumpled sideways, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

“……”

The noisy guild went silent.

Not a breath could be heard.

(End of Chapter)