Year 141_Keireki Era_Summer/00
Yo.
It’s me, a bandit.
You’re probably thinking, "There are different kinds of bandits, right?"
Well, if I had to categorize myself... maybe an outlaw? No, I’m not professional enough to claim a title like that.
I’m just a plain old bandit.
Less than an outlaw. Less than a thief. Just a bandit. That’s me.
Right now, I’m hanging around a trade route near the fortress city of Biumode.
The count of this place? Absolutely bonkers. Word is, he’s been picking fights with other territories out of nowhere.
Sure, Biumode’s got stronger forces and better resources than most territories, but it’s not like they’re some invincible super-army. So why he did it? I haven’t the faintest idea.
Some places have taken advantage of the chaos, while others are hunkering down and ignoring it altogether.
At least one thing’s for sure: the trade route here has lost its hustle and bustle.
With fewer travelers, the guards were reassigned to areas with worse security, leaving this route wide open as a hunting ground for folks like us—bandits.
That’s how we ended up here, targeting anyone coming in and out of Biumode territory.
But hey, I wasn’t born into this body.
It’s like my consciousness popped into this body one day… or at least that’s what it feels like.
Bandits like me? Our pasts are garbage, and our memories? Even worse. Most of us can’t recall what happened yesterday, let alone further back.
Day in, day out, it’s all the same—lying in wait, shaking people down, and throwing punches when necessary. It all blurs together after a while.
Judging from this body’s memories, though, we’ve been too active recently. Our reputation—if you can even call it that—has gotten so bad that it’s basically a death warrant.
Apparently, the boss—a seasoned bandit by any standard—knows from experience that when pickings get slim, a suppression squad usually follows.
So, we’ve been prepping to shift our operations to another trade route. That’s about the gist of what this body’s memories tell me.
Still, surviving long enough to gain that kind of experience? Gotta hand it to you, Boss!
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Bandits like us only thrive because the law has gone to hell.
The reasons? Plenty, but the biggest one is probably the "Succession War."
I don’t know if "the eve of war" is the right term, but the Boy K;ing and his hardworking prime minister inherited a massive nation and have been struggling to hold it together.
Meanwhile, a certain duke and his lapdogs, driven by ambition, have ruined everything.
That’s what brought about the Succession War.
I don’t know how long it’s been raging, but it’s gone on long enough for bandits like me to be crawling all over the place.
And when bandits run wild, guess who suffers? The farmers, the ones without city walls to protect them.
Food production drops, and desperate folks end up turning to banditry themselves.
It’s the worst kind of vicious cycle.
“What’s with the serious face?”
“Boss, anything interesting happen around here recently?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah… that. The mess at the Mage Guild.”
“That’s a thing?”
This is news to me.
The boss, it seems, keeps tabs on other bandits and defectors regularly. He’s not the strongest guy around, but when it comes to info, he’s unbeatable.
“Apparently, in Imuz, there’s this sort of academic guild alliance—a mutual aid or communication network funded by the various guilds.
But when Biumode started acting crazy, most of them pulled out.
Except for the Mage Guild branch, which decided to stay.”
Academics, huh? Mages, petitioners, and those types who use their heads and skills.
Makes sense they wouldn’t want to get dragged into conflicts, be mobilized as soldiers, or risk their innovations being turned against them by other factions. Lots of drawbacks.
“Are mages the combative type?”
“Eh, some are. But the main reason is this—”
The boss makes a hand gesture for money.
“Ah, the count poured cash into both the Mage and Petitioner Guilds?”
“The Petitioner Guild pulled out, but some of its people joined other organizations.”
“You’re well-informed, Boss.”
“Heh. Just between you and me, I used to be an official in Biumode. I’ve still got connections, and they feed me info.”
Survivors in the bandit game always have their own tricks.
For the boss, it’s being a local expert with information as his weapon.
“Well, anyway, the Mage Guild is staying loyal to Biumode, but there’s a rift forming between them and the mages leaving the city.”
The boss leans in with a grin, ready to share the juicy part.
“Here’s the kicker. The mages fleeing the city? They’re taking their treasures with them.
Get where I’m going with this?”
“Wait, are we targeting mages? Their stuff doesn’t exactly sell well…”
And then it clicks. The boss has ties in the city.
To the remaining mages, deserters are practically enemies. If those deserters show up beaten and desperate, trying to offload their valuables at rock-bottom prices…
“Buyers are lined up. That’s what you’re saying?”
“Bingo. We’re looking at a major payday.”
The boss smirked, but our chat was cut short by a distant scream—one of our guys.
Immediately, we snapped into combat mode.
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“Showtime. Looks like we’ve got guests!”
The boss shouted, and our crew emerged from hiding.
The target? An adventurer… or so it seems.
Just one person.
… Yeah, this is bad.
Who the hell wanders alone in a lawless place like this? No one sane, that’s for sure.
“Damn it, even if we run, we’ll just bump into other adventurers. Take them down here and now!”
“You got it, Boss!”
The boss wields a decent battle axe.
Our crew? Fifteen strong, counting me.
Half have scavenged equipment—decent but not great.
The other half? Spears made from sharpened branches. Classic bandit fare.
Against a solo adventurer—synonymous with "walking nightmare"—we don’t stand a chance.
But before I can dwell on it, the boss gave the order.
“Surround and kill!”
With practiced bravado, the boss steps forward. It’s almost impressive—if suicidal.
“Hey, adventurer. Surrender now, and we’ll let you live. Join us, and you might even enjoy tearing up Biumode.”
The target, a spectacled young man, seemed unfazed.
His outfit is plain but functional—no frills, just solid craftsmanship.
He looked like the logical, serious type.
“Surrender, you say? How confident of you.”
“Confidence is all I’ve got.”
“Did no one teach you not to mess with solo adventurers?”
“Hah! What’s that supposed to mean?”
I know exactly what it means, but the others laugh and jeer, oblivious.
“Surrounded like this, what can you possibly do? Show me!”
At the boss’s shout, the adventurer murmurs, “Shell.”
Our weapons snapped against an invisible barrier instead of piercing him.
And me? I didn’t even try. The moment he spoke, I turned tail and ran.
That’s a petitioner’s spell.
I don’t know what "Shell" does, but judging by the gruesome squelching sounds behind me, it’s nothing good.
In moments like these, running is the only option.
I don’t plan on dying just yet.
“Impressive reflexes. But your timing? Pathetic.”
Despite my head start, he caught me effortlessly.
Before I could even process it, my vision faded.
No pain, no drama—just silence.
Dying a painless death is almost merciful. Usually, death hurts.
I’ve probably died a million times by now, but it never gets easier.
Every time, at the moment it ends, there’s this strange feeling.
Like I’ve forgotten something important.
Something I was supposed to remember.
I don’t know what it is.
But for some reason, Biumode and Luluciette stick in my mind.
If being a bandit means being trapped in this cycle, maybe I can at least figure out what’s pulling at me.
If my life and memories carry over, if I wake up here again…
If I get another chance, maybe—just maybe—my next life as a bandit will be…
What do you think about this chapter?
