The Ideal Sponger Life: Volume 5 by Tsunehiko Watanabe

Author:Tsunehiko Watanabe [WATANABE, TSUNEHIKO]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: J-Novel Club
Published: 2021-11-11T00:00:00+00:00

Intermission 2 — Lingering Traces and Vanished Drakes

The efforts of both the royal army under General Pujol and the Gaziel March’s army under Xavier Gaziel were showing their worth as the soldiers worked steadily towards ensuring the safety of the salt road.

They were arrayed around a hill in a semicircle—one hunter’s advice was that this was likely to be the den of the large swarm raptor—and gradually tightening their formation.

It was easier said than done, of course. Each step from the road was a step into unexplored territory. The dense foliage meant they couldn’t even take ten steps in a straight line, while the chest-high weeds would bite into any exposed skin. The vines crawling between the trees were tougher than they looked as they blocked the soldiers’ path. Insects lurking in the undergrowth had stung multiple soldiers as well.

It was due to these obstacles that the men were wearing clothes they sweltered in: long sleeves and pants along with leather boots and gloves—similar to work gloves from Earth—as they silently swung their sickles.

It went without saying that Capua was hot. While it was better at this time of year now that the hottest months had passed, the midday highs were still above thirty degrees. Under those conditions, with the only bare skin being their faces, even the highly trained soldiers grew fatigued from the endless hours of manual labor.

The repetitive cutting motion forced them to stay in a half-stooped posture and was harder work than anyone who hadn’t experienced it could imagine. The heavy clothing meant that the sweat built up and soaked the material as well, which after an hour was several times its original weight.

The sweat must have also irritated their skin, as the soldiers frequently clawed at areas of their bodies with their free hands. Unfortunately, the thick clothes and gloved hands meant that scratching didn’t relieve the itching in the slightest.

Normally, such simple labor would have been aided by one of the best methods: singing. Singing as they worked would have kept them working to a rhythm and allowed them to—at least somewhat—forget the pain of their endeavor. However, with noise posing a risk, no singing was allowed here. After all, they were not tending plants—they were hunting. The true target of their blades was not the greenery, but the swarm raptor infestation. If they came together in song, the raptors, along with other aggressive drakes, could attack without their approach being noticed.

Thus, the only avenue they had to vent their stress as they were covered in sweat, mud, and plant matter was to quietly complain.

They were about halfway to their original target thanks to the mud-stained soldiers’ efforts when it happened.

“What was that? Repeat yourself,” General Pujol Guillén demanded of a pale-faced, bearded hunter with a glare.

The hunter could only manage a strangled gasp. The general had not intended any harm, but the hunter couldn’t cope. After all, there was no one in Capua who did not know that man was both at the head of the country’s army and the head of one of the leading noble families.

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