Note: Seeing as another group has picked this up with better translation, I’ll find something else for me to waste time. Read here NEW TRANSLATION TEAM
“Pat. That’s a bit too much, isn’t it? The soldiers are freaking out.”
Wayne said.
“Eh? With only that much? I am holding back though?”
“That’ll do it.”
“But that’s just a little trick.”
(Compared to what they used to do to me.)
“What you’re talking about? I mean, a lot of people get nervous or sick after killing someone, but you don’t seem to be affected, do you?”
“But you looks fine though, aren’t you Wayne?”
“I once killed a bandit in my own territory. I couldn’t sleep that night.”
“What a softie!”
“Yeah, maybe I’m a softie…”
“No, no, stop joking!”
“I mean, how can you be so calm?”
“What? Because he’s a bandit. He’s trying to kill us. Why do I have to lose my nerve to kill them? Villains and cockroaches must be killed.
“Same level as cockroaches…”
It didn’t seem like the kind of thing to talk about in the forest on the way to a bandit’s hideout, but in Patrick’s mind, bandits were like insects.
“Is that it?”
Patrick asked the bandit as he was being dragged along.
“Yeah, that one.”
There was a cave that looked like an abandoned mine.
“Okay, Wayne’s and my platoon will go in, the rest of you check the area for survivors and be on the lookout! Wayne! We’re coming in!”
The bandits had prepared a candlestick at the entrance, which I lit and proceeded into the cave. (t/n : might be lantern candlestick)
Of course, I brought the bandit along with me, so I let him show me the way inside.
There’s a small room with some food that can’t really be called a storehouse, then a weapons depot, then a loot pile, and finally
“Here they are, the three of them, just like I said.”
One of them was an old man of human race, about 70 years old. He has gray hair, blue eyes, and a little taller than Patrick. The other is a younger man, probably a wolf beastman.
And a human boy, about ten years old.
He had blond hair, about shoulder length, and green eyes. Patrick thought for a moment that he was a girl, but the aristocratic clothes he was wearing were for men, so he barely judged him to be a boy.
The three people are watching us.
“Ensign Patrick Rigsby of the Kingdom’s First Army. We defeated the bandits, testified that the bandits were holding people captive, learned of their existence and came to protect them. I see that you are a nobleman, and I would like to ask your name.”
Patrick said, and an old man with white hair yelled,
“The Royal Army! Thank you! I’m Carlos, this is Mark, and this is Kevin Dixon, the third son of the Marquis.
Hmm? Dixon? Marquess?
What?
kscans 