#17
Medo found it ridiculous that Baberi was suddenly acting kind toward him.
“What are you plotting?”
“What plot?!”
Baberi immediately denied it, claiming she had no ulterior motive. But when she saw the skepticism written all over Medo’s face, she dropped the act.
“Join me. Then I’ll protect you.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
Medo dismissed her with a single sentence, not even bothering to think it over. Kur, who was standing next to Baberi, nodded.
“Your Majesty, I agree with that man. That’s a crazy idea.”
Baberi whipped her head toward Kur and silently mouthed for him to shut up.
Medo smirked and shook his head.
“What’s in it for me if I join you?”
He wasn’t sure if she was really a Dragon Slayer or not. But even if she was, it didn’t matter.
She had just openly declared that she intended to become a queen. If he didn’t want to be executed as a traitor, he needed to stay far away from her.
“I already don’t like that you’re still staying in Sharon’s house.”
Medo frowned as he muttered. He’d told Sharon several times to throw them out, but she always said it was fine— that they hadn’t done her any harm.
Maybe that was true for now. But what would happen if it was discovered that she’d harbored rebels? She’d never escape punishment.
He found his lover’s naïveté infuriating.
“I’m a mercenary who moves only for money. You know I killed the lord for a payout, right?”
“I heard you didn’t actually kill him.”
Baberi added, saying Sharon had told her so. Medo frowned and sighed softly.
Since the topic had come up, Baberi decided to ask what had always made her curious.
“Your payment was two years overdue. Why’d you still take the job guarding the lord?”
“Because if he died, there’d be no one left to pay me.”
“But he died anyway. So why are you still in Rondar?”
Even after bounty hunters kept coming for him, he’d stayed. That meant there had to be a reason—something keeping him here.
What could it be? To protect Rondar from Rob?
The people of the domain might have a reason to stay, since hell would break loose when Rob returned. But a wandering mercenary like Medo had nothing to gain.
So Baberi could think of only one possible reason.
“Do you want to become the lord of Rondar?”
“If I wanted that, I’d have taken the castle already instead of hiding underground.”
“Oh.”
Kur’s rebuttal made Baberi realize her mistake.
Medo’s eyes widened before he burst into laughter, clutching his stomach as if he’d heard the funniest thing in the world.
“I’m nothing like those highborn types. I grew up on the streets, a snot-nosed brat who just happened to become a mercenary.”
“But you were a knight once.”
Medo froze mid-laugh. His eyes wavered, unable to focus.
Even Sharon didn’t know what he had done before becoming a mercenary. So how did Baberi know?
“Your swordsmanship looked too disciplined. I guessed you’d been trained. Since you’re a mercenary now, I assume you were dismissed?”
Her blunt question about such a sensitive topic made Medo’s face stiffen. Then, as if something in him snapped, he let out a dry, almost deranged laugh.
“Yeah. I stole the lord’s potatoes.”
* * *
“I’ll make my lord’s name known across the continent with my swordsmanship!”
Young Medo had big dreams.
“So please, teach me how to become the strongest knight on the continent!”
“You’ll never make a name for yourself with a sword.”
But his old master was brutally honest. He didn’t care if his words shattered the boy’s dreams.
“Learn mercenary skills instead.”
In the end, Medo spent ten hours training as a mercenary for every hour of sword practice. As his master predicted, Medo’s skill was mediocre. Still, after several years, he managed to become a knight of Lord Vaslui of Martu thanks to his master’s recommendation.
But Vaslui had a personality problem.
“Sir Mone, your swordsmanship is excellent. Excellent! I’m proud to call you my knight.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“No wonder my vassals—and even my wife—like you more than they like me.”
He would act kind one moment and explode in rage the next.
Maybe it was a blessing that Medo’s swordsmanship wasn’t too exceptional. He rarely drew attention.
One day, Vaslui gave an order.
“My loyal soldiers, go and crush the pirates who dare raid my ships!”
But the commander was killed by an axe to the chest, and Medo had to take over. Under his command, the army achieved a great victory.
His master had been cold, but he’d had a good eye.
“Thanks to Sir Medo, we survived.”
As Medo’s popularity grew, so did Vaslui’s jealousy. Finally, Vaslui accused him of stealing potatoes.
“I never stole any potatoes!”
It was like being struck by lightning. Despite his pleas of innocence, Medo was stripped of his knighthood and banished from Martu.
He gathered six others who had also been cast out and began working as mercenaries.
“Turns out I’m a natural at it.”
“Started with six, and now we’re nearly fifty strong.”
His companions were pleased, but Medo felt empty. A mercenary could have an employer, but not a lord. He longed for loyalty and honor, things that didn’t exist in his line of work.
Depressed, he sometimes thought it would’ve been better to die that night fighting the pirates—for at least then he’d have died a knight, serving his lord.
After much thought, he came to a conclusion.
“I don’t care if the family isn’t noble. I can’t afford to be picky anymore.”
When he lowered his standards, someone finally offered him a hand.
He became a knight again—but within three months, he was nearly killed after being caught in the lord and lady’s scandal.
“Boss, I know you’re hung up on being a knight, but it’s time to let it go. Just stick to what you’re good at.”
His comrades, hearing the news, persuaded him to return. Medo, disheartened, went back to his mercenary band.
From fifty to a hundred men—the group thrived, but Medo wasn’t happy.
Then came news of an evil dragon appearing in Madnie. The continent fell into chaos, and many lords of Tiris sought mercenary bands to form subjugation armies. Medo thought his chance had finally come.
“I’ve made up my mind.”
There were plenty of other offers, but he chose Rondar without hesitation.
“The contract says if we succeed, I’ll be granted both payment and knighthood.”
His men looked at their commander with pity. Medo gave them a sheepish shrug.
“I’m not asking you to follow me.”
He gave them the choice, and around sixty chose to go with him.
“The boss may be reckless, but he’s damn good at staying alive.”
They believed they could win as long as Medo led them. And Medo believed it too.
Fighting a dragon was no small task, but he’d heard that Langs—the heir of Ballista—would be there.
“Langs will take down the dragon. We’ll just be support.”
All they had to do was survive, and he’d finally become a knight—of Rondar, a land with history and power.
Lost in his dream, Medo didn’t realize the truth until he joined what was called the “Second Subjugation Force.”
“Langs will come with Prince Dran’s main army.”
That’s when he realized why the notoriously stingy lord of Rondar had offered such generous terms.
“This is a death trap.”
“They’re using us to wear the dragon down.”
When his men faced the dragon, they froze in terror, unable even to swing their weapons.
Medo was just as afraid, but he had a plan.
“Our goal isn’t victory. It’s survival.”
The main army was expected to arrive in two weeks. They just had to hold out until then.
His men agreed, and instead of fighting head-on, they hid in Madnie’s underground tunnels, dodging the dragon’s attacks.
The plan worked—for a while. But after a month with no sign of the main army, morale began to collapse.
“They’re afraid of the dragon! They’ve abandoned us as its food!”
Medo silently agreed. Just hearing the dragon’s roar from afar made him sweat and struggle to breathe.
The main army arrived three months later than promised. The survivors of the second force were pushed to the rear.
No one complained. Everyone was just grateful to finally escape that monster.
“Even if Langs really comes, can he defeat that thing…?”
Medo doubted it.
But three days after arriving in Madnie, Baberi Langs slew the dragon.
“That disgusting beast is finally dead!”
“Baberi Langs, long live!”
“Prince Dran, long live!”
As his comrades rejoiced, Medo froze.
“To make your lord’s name known across the continent with your skill…”
What he had dreamed of since childhood—Baberi had achieved it in just three days.
For the first time, Medo understood what it meant to be consumed by jealousy. For the first time, he understood Lord Vaslui’s envy.
* * *
“Hey.”
Baberi called to Medo, who had gone silent, lost in his memories.
“Why’d you stop talking? Why did you steal the potatoes?”
“…Because they looked too delicious.”
Medo muttered vaguely. Baberi’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned over to whisper to Kur.
“Guess that guy’s more of a glutton than he looks.”
“Seems that way. Better watch your tasteless beans.”
They spoke loudly enough for Medo to hear. For the record, Baberi still only got beans from Sharon to eat.
“Stealing potatoes, beans should be easy.”
Medo joked with a bitter smile, and Baberi raised a fist at him.
“Got the guts to go after my food, huh? Want another beating?”
Medo quickly surrendered, saying it was a joke.
“What does Sharon even see in you? You’re just a petty thief.”
Baberi lowered her fist with a grumble, but the word thief made something sink in Medo’s chest.
“Sharon said you’re really Baberi Langs. If that’s true, I’ve got a question.”
“What is it?”
“Why aren’t you at Pony Canyon slaying the dragon, but here instead?”
Baberi rolled her eyes. Sharon had asked her the same thing.
People really did think they were close, didn’t they.
“I already took care of it.”
Kur shot her a glare.
You liar.
She could read his lips perfectly.
“Is killing a dragon something you can speak about so casually?”
“Impressive. Truly impressive.”
Medo muttered with a nod, though his face was tense with anger.
“I don’t understand. You achieved such greatness—brought honor to your lord, to the royal family—and yet…”
Why would you try to commit treason?
He couldn’t even bring himself to say the word treason aloud.
He’d resented Vaslui for exiling him, but never sought revenge.
If anything, he had secretly hoped that one day, after making a name for himself, Vaslui might call him back—no matter how unlikely that was.
“Let’s get one thing straight.”
Baberi frowned at the confused Medo. Every word he’d said irritated her.
“When did I ever bring honor to the royal family? I killed the dragon for money. Money.”
Just like you.
She pointed back and forth between them.
“We’re the same.”
