I Became a Ruined Character in a Dark Fantasy-Chapter 345

"We’ve arrived a bit earlier than expected. Looks like everyone’s probably still asleep," Miguel remarked, glancing up at the dim sky. Ian nodded in agreement and turned to look behind him. The centurions, catching his gaze, stepped forward.

"When we arrive, drop your gear and get some rest. Sorting and checking the supplies can wait until after you’ve had some sleep."

"Yes, Great Warrior," the centurions responded, nodding in unison.

Even their faces showed faint traces of exhaustion. Despite the blessings and riding on horseback, the grueling schedule had taken its toll. For the warriors marching on foot, it was undoubtedly worse. Though none of them outwardly complained, they’d probably collapse the moment their heads hit the ground.

Ian alone seemed unaffected—though, truthfully, even he wasn’t completely unscathed. For the past few days, the nagging urge for a proper bath, especially to wash his hair, had been impossible to ignore.

"Take your time catching up," Ian added to Miguel and Lucia as the centurions dispersed. With that, he flicked the reins.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

Nila advanced steadily, pulling ahead of the formation at a relaxed pace. Ian’s gaze fixed on the looming palisade gates and the watchtower rising behind them.

"By Karha..."

Two barbarian guards stood atop the watchtower, their sleepy faces now wide awake as they stared below.

"He really brought a legion with him..." one of them muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. Their gazes, riveted on the approaching army, finally landed on Ian as he rode closer.

Both froze, exchanging bewildered looks as Ian stopped Nila at a reasonable distance and gently pulled the reins. The horse turned slightly, coming to a halt. Ian removed his hood and looked up at them.

"Do you recognize me?"

"Of course, Great Warrior...!" the guards responded, their faces breaking into broad smiles. Their eyes glimmered with almost excessive enthusiasm as they stared at him.

This is... practically like being a celebrity.

Suppressing an inward sigh, Ian jerked his chin toward them.

"Is everyone still asleep?"

"...! Don’t worry, Great Warrior," one guard replied, eyes wide with urgency. They exchanged a determined glance before adding, "We’ll wake everyone to greet you properly!"

"No, that’s not—" Ian began, frowning. But before he could finish, the two guards had already leaped down behind the tower.

"I just meant... quietly..."

Ian let out a defeated sigh, his hand instinctively reaching out, only to fall limply to his side. It wasn’t like sneaking in quietly would’ve made much difference, anyway. Ending the commotion quickly might actually save him some trouble later.

They could’ve at least opened the gates.

The heavy wooden doors remained firmly shut, a thick crossbar faintly visible through the cracks. Clicking his tongue, Ian turned to glance at the warriors climbing the hill, weariness etched across their faces.

...I guess I’ll do it myself.

Resigned, Ian drew his sword from his hip and leaped down from the saddle with a fluid motion.

As he moved forward, the echoing cries grew louder.

"The Great Warrior has returned!"

Ian's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, the Truesilver Steel Sword, as a golden aura shimmered along its blade.

***

"The Great Warrior has returned!"

"Everyone to the square! Gather to welcome the Great Warrior and his legion!"

Trude, sprawled out across his bed, scrunched his face at the resounding calls and turned over with a groggy groan.

"The Great Warrior?"

Of course, his eyes snapped wide open an instant later.

"... The Great Warrior?"

He bolted upright, the bed creaking under his sudden movement.

"Already back?"

The promise Ian made to return within a month still had two days left.

"How did he return so quickly—no, wait?"

That isn’t the important thing.

Realizing this, Trude tumbled out of bed, kicking at the bodies strewn across the floor—his officers who had been drinking late into the night.

"Get up! Don’t you hear? The captain is back!"

"Huh? What’s this about... Wh-what!?"

Their reactions weren’t much different from his, though their faces looked even more dazed. Trude yelled again at the half-asleep men as they scrambled upright.

"Get your filthy hides out there, now! And tell everyone to assemble at the square immediately!"

"Y-yes...!"

Still barely dressed, the officers rushed out in a flurry. Only then did Trude gulp down the cold water left on the table, hastily throwing on his clothes.

Once he had donned his thick fur cloak, he stepped outside. Half-awake mercenaries were already gathering in the streets, their expressions confused.

"What in the world... this early in the morning?""

"Did he not sleep at all on the way here?"

Striding forward, Trude stopped in front of them and spoke without hesitation. "Everyone! shut it."

The murmurs instantly died down. As latecomers scurried to join the gathering, Trude cast a glance over the assembled mercenaries before issuing his next order.

"Fix your appearances and keep your mouths shut. In front of the captain, mind what you say. Anyone who makes a fool of themselves won’t get the chance to do it again."

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At once, the mercenaries began straightening their outfits, many of which were hastily thrown on, with some lacking outerwear altogether.

Among the group, a few wore scowls of displeasure—mostly the newer recruits. They kept silent, though, aware of Trude's fearsome reputation.

It hadn’t been long since he had branded the foreheads of deserters, leaving scars as a permanent reminder. Compared to that, missing fingers seemed like a mild punishment.

"... So, he’s really back," one of Trude's officers murmured as they followed him toward the square.

The barbarians of the settlement had all gathered in the plaza. Some had even rushed out barefoot.

"Oh... Ohhh..."

"It's the Great Warrior..."

Sighs of awe echoed throughout the plaza. Trude, having just entered, found his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

Clip-clop, clip-clop—

Ian, mounted on a grand white steed draped in thick black fur, entered the plaza. His cloak fluttered dramatically, and the horse's noble gait only added to his commanding presence.

"Holy... hell..."

But it wasn’t Ian’s imposing figure that had left Trude dumbfounded. It was the sheer size of the procession that followed behind him.

There were dozens of mounted warriors, and beyond them stretched an endless column of soldiers.

"So, it’s true. He rallied all the barbarian warriors in such a short time..." Trude muttered in awe, overwhelmed by the sight.

It was an image to stir the blood of any Northerner. Uniting the barbarian warriors was something not even the Archduke of the Autonomous Territories had ever achieved.

Clip-clop, clip-clop—

Ian’s white steed stopped before Karha’s statue at the center of the plaza. Dismounting, Ian turned to face the gathered crowd with his usual calm expression.

"Good to see you all again," he said, his tone unchanging. "We’ve had a long journey, so let’s skip the formal greetings."

The barbarian, who had begun to bow, hesitated at his words. Ian’s gaze shifted to the soldiers who had followed him and now stood at attention.

"Well done. Wrap things up quickly and take your rest."

"Yes, Great Warrior!"

With a unified shout, the soldiers moved in an organized fashion, their efficiency reflecting their rigorous training.

The lack of further words didn’t seem strange. They had marched non-stop from the snowfields to this point, exhaustion clear on their faces.

Trude snapped out of his daze the moment Ian’s gaze locked on him. As Ian dismounted, Trude hurriedly rushed over, nearly tripping in his haste.

"G-good work, Captain. I never imagined you’d return earlier than promised. And... I certainly didn’t expect you’d bring so many with you."

"A lot has happened. It’s been tough," Ian replied with a dry chuckle, his eyes scanning over the crowd behind Trude. "Looks like you wrapped up your assignment ahead of schedule as well."

Several mercenaries caught in Ian’s gaze instinctively bowed their heads. Trude awkwardly scratched the back of his neck.

"Well, all I did was relay the call to gather and wait here."

"So, how many do we have in total?"

Ian gave Nila a pat on the neck before stepping forward, heading toward the gathered mercenaries. The horse, seemingly understanding, turned on its own and walked toward the cavalry, who were busy managing the other mounts.

"Three hundred and twenty-two," Trude replied as he walked alongside Ian. "More than a hundred and fifty of them volunteered to follow you. Crazy bastards."

"That’s more than I expected," Ian remarked with a nod.

As Ian approached, the mercenaries shuffled backward, forming a natural semi-circle around him.

Ian swept his gaze over them before finally speaking. "From the moment we leave here, you’re no longer the Dragon Slayer's Warriors," Ian declared, his voice firm.

"...?"

"You’ll be the Dragon Slayer's Legion."

The mercenaries, initially confused, suddenly widened their eyes in realization.

Ian continued without pause. "As you all know, you’re heading to the most dangerous battlefield. For those who volunteered, you’ll have two days to reconsider. If you’re scared, leave during that time. However, anyone who has used my name for their benefit is an exception—you're all coming with me."

A few of the Dragon Slayer's Warriors gulped nervously. Some shivered as if chilled, while others showed steely determination in their gazes.

Ian added, "After two days, you’ll all be part of my legion. From that point on, if anyone wants to leave, they’ll have to do so without their head. You’ll be subject to military law."

"..!"

"Marching to the front lines will be grueling. You’ll sleep for only four hours a day and spend the rest walking. If you think you can’t handle it, find yourself a horse. I won’t stop you from dozing off in the saddle."

Ian’s tone was matter-of-fact as he continued, then nodded slightly.

"Any questions?"

None of the mercenaries dared to raise their hand. They simply stared at him with reverence, fear, or curiosity.

Satisfied, Ian continued, "Take care of yourselves so you don’t catch a cold. Even if you’re sick, you’ll still be dragged along. Starting today, alcohol is banned. If you’re curious about the consequences of breaking that rule, go ahead and drink."

Ian’s gaze momentarily rested on Trude, who still reeked of alcohol, before adding, "Dismissed. Only the officers stay behind."

"... Ah, right. Didn’t you hear? Everyone else, get back and put on proper clothes!" Trude shouted, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he turned to shout at the mercenaries.

At last, the mercenaries awkwardly dispersed. Some even approached Ian directly—veterans of the original Dragon Slayer’s Warriors, survivors of their battles in Bellium.

Ian addressed them, "Divide into three centuria units. If the numbers don’t align perfectly, no matter—just make them as even as possible. Choose your centurions and lieutenants amongst yourselves."

Ian’s sharp gaze swept over their ranks, his tone calm but commanding. When his eyes settled back on Trude, he added, "From now until this mission is over, you’re no longer the mercenary captain. You’re a centurion."

"A-Alright, Captain," Trude replied. "But, about this talk of a legion...?"

"It means you’re officially under my command now."

"Figured as much!" Trude’s eyes lit up with excitement.

The other officers exchanged intrigued glances. This meant they were now part of the formal military under the Northern Margrave—a prestigious standing that dwarfed their current status.

Ian’s voice turned icy. "It’s too early for sweet dreams."

"A-Ah, right, of course! I didn’t mean to... I’ll be careful," Trude stammered, wiping the grin off his face.

Ian continued, "Anyone else here? Imperial merchants? Any special guests?"

"Imperial merchants...? None," Trude replied, but his answer caused Ian’s eyes to narrow slightly.

... So, the reinforcements are late.

As Ian mulled over this, Trude added, "But we have some VIPs. Specifically, an envoy from His Grace, the Archduke."

"... An envoy?" Ian’s expression darkened further.

Trude nodded and glanced around nervously as he explained, "He claims to carry a message from His Grace. They’ve been here for a few days now, but judging by the look of things..."

Trude glanced around before continuing, "He’s probably still sleeping. Then again, he was drinking heavily last night."

A cold smile flickered across Ian’s face.

That damn Archduke again...

Archduke Olaf was trying to send him straight to the front lines without a proper meeting.

"S-So, about that..." Trude began hesitantly, fumbling for words. "He was acting all high and mighty because of their noble status, so... I might’ve made him drink a little more than necessary. It was stupid of me—I didn’t think you’d return early, Captain...." Trude seemed to mistake Ian’s expression for disapproval.

Letting out a faint snort of laughter, Ian tilted his head slightly. "Just get him up, even if you have to throw cold water on him."