A Weakling Who Died a Million Times
Description
A respawning weakling—that’s me, alright.
Year 4_Keireki Era_Spring/00
Yo.
I’m just a bandit. Not a thief, not a highwayman—something even less than that.
But I’m out here, making my presence known on these trails and through the scrubby woods.
When bandits can make their mark, it means that law and order is shot to hell.
I won’t get all dramatic with talk about *this world*, but this area? Lawlessness reigns across the board.
The reasons? Plenty.
There was a war between nations, and effectively, it destroyed the country itself.
Then the nobles fought to carve out pieces of the kingdom for themselves in the aftermath.
A food crisis that devolved into brutal infighting.
The once-feared warlords, now disbanded, turned rogue and went into hiding.
And a wave of nihilistic violence, a product of a chaotic age.
“Dreaming of tomorrow is nothing but a fool’s idle nap,” someone once said.
And thanks to the idiots rampaging without a plan, law and order are now more valuable than gold.
If there’s no law, there’s no guarantee of tomorrow. The future has become as valuable as gold.
Anyway, there’s never a shortage of conflict in this era.
And it’s not just humans fighting each other.
There are predators and monsters scarier than humans, and beings stronger than humans lurking everywhere.
Yet here we are, killing each other over the right to call ourselves bandits.
Welcome to an age that’s already over! I wanna run! I wanna disappear! I wanna go home!
… Or so I say, but shouting that wouldn’t bring anyone to my rescue.
So all that’s left is to live as I’m drawn to, embracing the life I’ve been given.
My name?
There’s no need for you to know my name.
Because I am—
Oh, you’ll figure that out soon enough.
Right now, though, I’ve got “customers.”
Let’s take a look around.
This hideout of ours is tucked away off the side of a road, behind a bunch of trees.
“Ours,” you ask?
Yeah, it’s a gang of dumb bandits!
The lineup?
We’ve got a moron who can’t remember a face three steps away!
One who does nothing but ogle women’s backsides!
One who lives for punching and kicking!
And one who gets a twisted thrill out of the nastiest things I’d rather not even list!
And then, there’s me! That’s the whole crew!
The person approaching… is alone!
Female, young, shorter than me, with a greatsword on her back.
Her gear is decent, lightweight, perfect for traveling. Yep! An opponent we’ve got no chance against!
Why do I think that, even though I’m a grown man used to this rough business?
Let me teach you a little trick that’ll come in handy if you’re ever aiming to become a bandit yourself!
What you should look at is armor weight and the number of people.
The lighter the armor, the stronger they are!
The ones who look like they’re dressed casually but carrying weapons? They’re the scariest!
It means they don’t need heavy protection—don’t forget that.
Heavy armor can be dangerous, too, though.
But seeing someone in full plate on a normal road, looking like a walking fortress not headed for war? One glance, and you know they’ve got monstrous stamina.
Now, let’s talk numbers.
A single person is the most dangerous.
Seriously, who walks alone in a world this dangerous?
If they’re a fool, they’re already dead.
If they’re alive, that means they’re the real deal.
Then six people. This means the most efficient and stable setup for a group, which is dangerous.
Especially if they have a front and rear guard—it’s usually a sign they’re experts at handling ambushes.
Then, four people—that’s a pretty stable group, usually made up of veterans.
They’ve probably added and lost people over time, whittling down to a crew that’s in perfect sync.
Two or three people, or more than seven, are your best targets.
Two means they either haven’t formed a proper party or don’t know the value of it.
Three? Mostly guys with women at both sides, which usually means show-offs. Spook them a little, and they quickly lose their fighting spirit.
More than seven, and things tend to get chaotic.
Nobody wants to face bandits with a weak sense of loyalty, so morale drops fast.
But hey, we’re bandits; we don’t give a damn about the odds.
Even if one person is the worst-case scenario.
“Hey, lady! Stop right there!”
“You’re gonna need to pay a toll, you know?”
“Nice ass, but that body could use some filling out.”
“Hey, hey, we’re gonna take all that gear of yours—”
Before the fourth guy could finish his sentence, she drew her sword and sent him flying.
“What?”
The other three stood in stunned silence as she cut them to pieces, one by one.
And me?
Of course… I turned to run, but she sensed me the moment I tried,
sliced through the air with her sword,
and her blade flew at me, slicing me in half on the spot!
All of this took less than two seconds! Yeah, she was bad news after all!
I died!
Goodbye, life!
Yep, this is what “the life of a small fry” is all about.
See? Knowing my name doesn’t mean anything.
Lives like mine disappear easier than a stone kicked off the side of the road.
I’ve been living this crummy life, and though I’ve lost count, I must’ve died at least a million times by now.
What do you think about this chapter?
