Volume 1 Chapter 25 Former Captain Bours
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
”Get your leather armor on! If you don’t want to die, you do exactly what I say!”
Bours barked the command in a voice so sharp it made my skin crawl. Terror had its hooks in me; my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I slammed my fists into my thighs over and over, trying to beat the tremors out of my muscles while I fumbled with my gear. It reminded me of the time Hans-niisan almost cornered me at Al’s place, but this was a different beast entirely.
”Militia, drop the tents! Engineers, over here for your briefing!”
The tents were massive, large enough to house three horses with room to spare. As my team unfastened the guy-lines, the engineers moved in with fresh instructions. They didn’t want the tents disassembled; instead, we were told to collapse the center poles and roll the canvas into tight, spindle-shaped bundles.
As we struggled with the heavy fabric, the roar from the South Gate intensified, and a sudden explosion of shouting erupted from the West Gate. Looking up, I saw stones and arrows beginning to rain down from beyond the walls. Whether it was the plan or they just couldn’t hold the line, the cavalry units began streaming out of the gates. Seconds later, the air was filled with a cacophony of war cries.
”Regular infantry, grab every bow and arrow you can find! I am Former Captain Bours Debritz of the Western Front Division!”
Bours was suddenly standing on a table he’d scavenged from somewhere, towering over the chaos. The mere weight of his title-Former Captain-was enough to snap the disorganized infantry into a coherent unit. They began to move under his direction.
Following the engineers’ lead, we hoisted the rolled tents. The canvas wasn’t some light synthetic; it was heavy fabric impregnated with resin for waterproofing, and it weighed a ton. Looking around, I realized most of the other tents were still standing. The Militia members actually doing anything were few and far between; the rest were probably still hiding inside, struggling with their buckles.
”Move! This is a goddamn battlefield! If you want to live, get moving!” Bours’ reprimands cut through the noise. Officers and NCOs began to coalesce around him. He became the de facto center of command, his eyes darting between the West and South Gates as he issued rapid-fire orders.
The seven of us managed to lug our heavy burden to the designated spot. It looked like we were building a semi-circular barricade out of tent rolls inside the East Gate, using the gate itself as a rear anchor. Once we dropped ours, we ran to help with the others. The groups further from the gate had arrived late the previous day and clearly hadn’t had a lick of training. They were sluggish-or worse, completely paralyzed.
I saw men wandering aimlessly without armor. Others were on all fours, retching into the dirt from pure, soul-crushing fear. One idiot managed to knock the poles down before unhooking the lines, ending up trapped and screaming beneath the heavy canvas. The sounds from the South Gate-the screams, the rhythmic clanging of steel-were getting louder.
”Hurry up! Sentries, drag the useless ones to the wall! If any of them act ‘unstable,’ cut them down where they stand!”
I froze. (Unstable? Cut them down? Was he really ordering them to kill people just for being too scared to move?)
”I am Second Lieutenant Patrick Musen! I second Former Captain Bours’ order! I take full responsibility!”
Musen must have realized the men wouldn’t follow a lethal command from a ‘former’ officer, so he put his own rank on the line. It was a cold, necessary judgment, but the order itself was too much for a novice to stomach. Soldiers in a different uniform swarmed the shell-shocked men. They didn’t kill them, though; they grabbed them by the armpits and dragged them toward the walls like sacks of grain. Watching it made my stomach lurch. I leaned over and vomited into the dry, yellow dust.
”Are you okay?” Getz asked, sounding worried.
Slowly, seeing us work, the rest of the Militia began to find their rhythm.
”Alright! Once the barricade is set, I want a double-row spear-wall inside the perimeter! You men from Olden-you know what to do!”
The Olden Militia were the only ones who looked halfway competent. They had small round shields strapped to their arms and nodded grimly at Bours-san’s voice.
”Militia, grab your spears and follow the Olden lead! Ed, Mar, Getz-help them out! You don’t need to lock the stance yet, but make sure they know how to hold the damn things!”
I was pulled from the line. I stood at the far right of the barricade with Celt, Clemens, and Roberto, spear in hand.
”Cavalry, form a line on the wings! Infantry, every man a bow! Archers, line up behind the Militia!”
Bours-san was a machine. The cavalry split, passing the barricade to form two lines on our flanks. The horses were lathered in sweat, tossing their heads and snorting. The defensive line in front of the West Gate was finally taking shape.
”Here they come!”
Through the dust clouds of the South Gate, a group of riders burst through. Maybe twenty of them, charging straight for us.
”Cavalry, hold! Infantry, archers, draw-but do not nock!”
”Militia, ready spears!”
I dropped to one knee in the front rank, leveling my spear. Ed and the others moved down the line, adjusting grips. The thundering of hooves grew louder. Two hundred meters. I could see their faces now. They weren’t soldiers. They were a motley crew of filthy, middle-aged bastards-and in the middle of them was a woman who looked like a literal gorilla.
”It’s the Weasels of Bohemia,” a voice muttered behind me. It was one of the Olden men. “Kiridal mercenaries,” he spat, his voice dripping with old hatred.
One hundred meters.
”Archers, nock!”
My heart hammered against my ribs. The riders swept in from the front-left, and for a second, it felt like the world had slowed to a crawl. I could hear every individual hoofbeat. My breath was shallow. I could see the lead man-a huge, bearded brute. Next to him was the red-haired ‘gorilla,’ bigger than Al, swinging a mace. They were all grinning. Why the hell were they smiling?
”Archers… LOOSE!”
Less than fifty meters. A few seconds to impact. The thrum of bowstrings filled the air. Someone was a crack shot-the lead brute took an arrow straight through the forehead and slumped. The gorilla woman tried to grab him, but saw the shaft through his skull and let go. She let out a howl of rage, her face twisting into something demonic as she locked eyes with us.
”Keep firing! Infantry, nock!”
The mercenaries didn’t slow down; they followed the woman’s lead, charging right into the teeth of it.
”Infantry, thirty degrees… LOOSE!”
A ragged volley. Some arrows fell short, but dozens more hissed into the charging mass. Most bounced off armor, but a few found horseflesh. The charge didn’t break, but it veered, curving away from our center and toward our right flank.
The massive weight of the horses thundered past us, barely ten meters away. Point-blank arrows from our archers knocked several riders loose. One bearded man tried to scramble up from the dirt just meters from me.
An arrow caught him right through the top of his helmet. It punched through. I watched, paralyzed, as gray brain matter mixed with blood leaked from the wound, slicking his brow and cheeks. He collapsed, and three more arrows thudded into his back.
A man was slaughtered right in front of me. I felt my stomach lurch again, though I had nothing left to heave.
”Cease fire!”
”Right wing cavalry!”
The riders next to me tensed. Bours-san waited for the perfect heartbeat of silence.
”CHARGE!” “HORAH!”
The war cry was deafening. The earth shook as our cavalry leapt forward to chase the enemy’s tail.
”Left wing! CHARGE!”
Another wave of our riders screamed and tore after them. The enemy mercenaries tried to circle back, but our right wing was on them, and the left wing was cutting into their flank.
”Archers, spread out! Half the infantry, get on the walls! Engineers, build the screen!”
It was a whirlwind of orders. The engineers shoved past us, unrolling the tent canvas and hoisting it up on poles between the Militia ranks. It acted like a giant blindfold, obscuring the battlefield.
”Militia, hold that spear-wall!”
We couldn’t see, but we could hear everything. The enemy was being herded back toward us in a wide arc.
”Left wing archers, nock! Mind your own men… LOOSE!”
Suddenly, something massive slammed into the canvas screen. The engineers couldn’t hold the weight; the poles snapped, and the ‘wall’ vanished. In that split second, a horse and rider came tumbling directly toward me on the far right.
Slow motion again. The horse hit the ground and rolled in a cloud of dust. The rider was catapulted forward, sliding across the heavy canvas right toward my position.
Our eyes met. His face was a mask of pure, wide-eyed shock. And then, the tip of my spear entered his open mouth.
I felt it. The resistance of bone, the sickening pop as the steel slid through cartilage and out the back of his neck. The vibration traveled up the wooden shaft and into my hands. The light vanished from his eyes instantly.
A man was dead. I killed him.
An icy, nameless horror gripped my soul. I could still feel the sensation of the spear sliding through him. I wanted to let go, to drop the weapon, but my fingers were locked in a death grip.
My vision began to dim. Like an old CRT television being switched off, the light stretched into thin horizontal lines, collapsed into a single white dot in the center, and then… total darkness.
* * *
Why is it so bright?
My body feels like lead. (Is this a plaza?)
(Sister-in-law?)
No, I’m so tired. Who’s shaking me?
”Customer, are you alright?”
”Ah… yeah. I’m fine.”
”It’s the end of the line.”
Did I do it again? “Where are we?”
”Himeji. Are you okay?”
”Ah… yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine.”
The other day, I slept through my stop and ended up all the way in Yasu, over in Shiga. Himeji isn’t so bad. Maybe I’ll grab some station noodles before I head back.
I opened my eyes. The conductor’s mouth had a spear thrust through it, and his dead eyes were staring right into mine.
”UWAHHHHHHHH!”
* * *
For the first time in a long while, Larry’s consciousness snapped back into his physical body. I sat bolt upright, my back drenched in a cold, disgusting sweat.
”Is something the matter?” a girl asked. She was wearing a plain, simple apron.
My head felt like it was being split open with a hatchet. A massive flood of the Parasite Host’s memories came rushing in.
(Sister-in-law… what! Hans-niisan? Pastor’s wife? The garrison, Lint, Golem…)
Unorganized shards of a life I didn’t own came screaming through my mind, and I couldn’t stop them.
Whenever something miserable happens or I’m just plain exhausted, I tend to slip into “Autism mode”¹. I just stop caring about everything, and when I do, it seems the Otherworlder parasitizing this body takes the wheel.
Past takeovers were always brief, but this time it feels like I’ve been hijacked for an eternity. What was happening while I was gone? I used to have to manually dig through the Parasite Host’s memories or wait for them to surface on their own, but now the information is flooding in. A relentless, ceaseless stream of images is pouring into my mind.
”It’s alright. Just stay lying down,” a woman’s voice said.
I clutched my head, my mind a chaotic mess, as the nurse’s voice drifted over me. I could feel the texture of fabric-was my head wrapped in bandages?
”Is something wrong over there?” another voice asked.
”He regained consciousness for a moment,” the first woman replied. “But it seems his head wound is still throbbing.”
”I see. I’ll examine him later. For now, could you help me with this patient?”
The nurse’s presence faded. As the influx of memories finally began to settle, I tried to organize the fragments of the Parasite Host’s recent actions. That’s when I found it-something absolutely loathsome.
The Parasite Host had used my body to… to my Sister-in-law! What the hell was he doing?!
”Stop it-!” I screamed, bolting upright.
It was the one thing I feared most. Of all the times for him to perform the Rite of Passage², he had to do it while I was checked out. And the sheer depravity of it-injecting Mana into my sacred Sister-in-law’s body just to read her mind? It was beyond vulgar. To think he’d actually flow Mana into her… her…
”Stop it… stop…” I groaned, my voice cracking.
”Is something the matter?” a voice asked. It was higher than the first nurse, a bit sharper.
I looked up to see a small Elf. The tips of her long ears peeked through the gaps in her hood. Her face bore a passing resemblance to Granny Ferris. She was roughly my height, dressed in a strange outfit that looked like a white lab coat worn over a hooded mantle.
”Sorry,” I muttered. “I just… I remembered something unpleasant.”
”I see,” the Elf said. “This is a field hospital after a battle; I imagine there’s a lot to process. But if you’re going to be noisy, I’ll have to move you. Can you keep it down?”
”Ah, yes. I can manage now,” I said.
”Understood. Then please, lie back and rest,” she replied.
I gave a weak “yes” and slowly eased my weight back onto the cot.
”Um…” I started.
”What is it?” the Elf asked.
”Where is this?”
”The Linto field hospital desu-no,” she said, turning away to tend to others.
I looked around the tent. There were twelve beds in total, most filled with people sleeping fitfully. So, I really was at the Linto base. This was the place where Iffens-niisan had fallen in battle. We’d left the village for the front, stayed a night at the Obernbach garrison, and arrived… yesterday?
I traced back through the Parasite Host’s memories. This morning, this place was raided. By a… “Gorilla Woman”? The memory turned hazy there, making it impossible to follow the thread. My head was wrapped in bandages, so I must have taken a hit during the chaos. I wondered if the other guys were okay. At least from what I can see, the men in the neighboring beds were all strangers.
(Well, whatever. Might as well use this time to finish sorting through that bastard’s memories…)
”Hey. You the Militia guy from the East Gate?”
I was tossing and turning, my mind looping back to the violation of my Sister-in-law, when the man to my left spoke up.
”Ah, yeah,” I replied. “I was conscripted from Strock Village.”
”Strock? Isn’t that where former Captain Bours lives?”
”Is Bours-san actually famous?” I asked.
”Kid, there isn’t a soldier who’s been to the Western Front who doesn’t know the name,” the man said.
”But I heard he went back to the village before the plague,” I noted.
According to him, Bours was a tactical genius. It wasn’t just the stories of him snatching victory from the jaws of defeat; the bridgeheads his unit built are still standing on the Western Front today. To the combat engineers, the man was a legend. While the official story was that he returned home to inherit his estate, the rumor in the army was that he’d been pushed out by a superior who was jealous of his achievements.
”He was a lock for General, no doubt about it,” the man added, his voice full of admiration.
”Did you know him personally?” I asked.
”Different units,” the man said with a mischievous grin. “But we were on the same battlefield. I was just a grunt, so I only ever caught a glimpse of him.”
He told me he was a Corporal in the engineers. He’d been repairing the fortifications when the morning raid hit; he fell from the wall, shattering both legs and several ribs.
Later that evening, as I was choking down some oatmeal, the man himself appeared. Captain Bours and Edmond-san had come to visit the wounded.
The man next to me, despite having two broken legs, hauled his upper body up and snapped a perfect salute. His hair was a matted, curly mess and his cheeks were gaunt with stubble, but his eyes were brimming with tears. I wondered if seeing the man was really worth crying over.
As they left, even though Bours was only wearing basic Militia leather, several of the wounded-actual regular soldiers of the Kingdom Army-straightened themselves in their beds to salute him. Edmond followed a step behind, acting as a guard for the former Captain, who returned the salutes with a sharp nod.
Does the battlefield really turn men into gods? That old yeoman back home, the one who spends his days doting on his young wife and tending to his orchards… apparently, in the eyes of the Kingdom Army, the man is a living legend.
—
Summary:
Larry is thrust into a brutal defensive battle led by Former Captain Bours. During the skirmish, Larry kills a mercenary, triggering a traumatic PTSD flashback to his previous life as a Japanese commuter. The chapter ends as Larry regains consciousness in his current world, overwhelmed by a flood of integrated memories.
The protagonist wakes up in a field hospital after a blackout caused by his ‘Parasite Host.’ He discovers that while he was unconscious, the parasite committed a depraved magical act against his sister-in-law. The chapter shifts to his recovery, where he learns of the legendary military status of his neighbor, Bours.
—
Trivia:
- The canvas tents are made of heavy fabric coated with resin, not light modern materials.
- Bours is a ‘Former’ Captain, implying he was dismissed or retired from the Western Front Division.
- The Olden Militia are noted as the most disciplined and come equipped with their own shields.
- The ‘Bohemia no Itachi’ (Weasels of Bohemia) are a specific mercenary group from Kiridal.
- Larry has a history of ‘sleeping through stops’ in his past life, indicating a possible overworked salaryman background.
- The ‘Gorilla Woman’ raid happened earlier that morning.
- Linto is where the protagonist’s brother, Iffens, was killed.
- Bours was forced out of the military due to politics, not incompetence.
- Mana can be used for mental intrusion/reading minds through physical contact
—
Character Insight:
Larry transitions from a shaking, paralyzed recruit to a killer. The trauma of the kill shatters the mental barrier between his current self and his previous life’s memories, suggesting the ‘Parasite Host’ condition is reactive to extreme stress.
The protagonist feels a deep sense of moral repulsion and failure due to the actions of the entity sharing his body. His neighbor, the Corporal, demonstrates the deep emotional impact and loyalty soldiers feel toward competent leaders like Bours.
—
Lore And Worldbuilding Context:
The author uses the ‘slow motion’ perception (Tachytensia) to ground the reader in Larry’s adrenaline-fueled state, contrasting it with the mundane ‘commuter dread’ of the Himeji sequence.
The ‘Autism mode’ term is common in Japanese web novel culture to describe a state of hyper-fixation or total detachment.
—
Glossary:
Notes:
• Bours – Tall, scarred, in a faded Royal Army uniform, he is a former captain turned militia instructor — stern‑tempered, training village youth in archery, tactical Heal magic, orc‑hunting and survival. Married to Sheeta‑san, father of a son in the Imperial border division, now conscripted; veteran of the Western Front, Elders’ Council member, and commander of cavalry/infantry during the Kiridal attack.
• Hans – Larry, the rugged, wild‑eyed ‘Mad Dog’ of Strock Village, is the second son of the Fee family, a chronic alcoholic with assault and extortion convictions. As the older brother and heir to the Kessler estate he abandons his duties, returning to crash a ceremony. His brother is aggressive, decisive, pragmatic, known for strength and violence, and refuses the headship.
• Al – Alberto, a massive red‑haired man recently married to Mary, just finished his village wedding. He is a companion of Hans, helping intimidate and gather elders as a villager and leader working alongside him.
• Patrick – A Second Lieutenant who takes responsibility for Bours’ lethal orders to maintain discipline.
• Muse – Cecile’s trusted attendant and chief maid, Muse handles sensitive, discreet tasks like espionage and product acquisition. Have sharp, black eyes, wearing maid uniform, and have expressionless face.
• Getz – Rugged Mauer Village militiaman with short, unkempt hair and a scar across his left cheek, clad in a worn leather jacket over a faded uniform; he keeps distance from most but shares a close, quiet bond with Larry, his fellow militiaman. Respects Bours’ authority, embodies tense defiance mixed with reluctant loyalty, scouts the village, spreads gossip, and forgets politics and religion—relying on others to untangle them. His confusion masks a quiet, stubborn integrity, and though frustrated as a spearman, he stands firm in his own way.
• Ed – A lanky village youth in simple farmer’s garb, Larry’s close friend and soon‑to‑be conscript, fiercely protective of Larry’s interests, now serving as a militia member assisting in spear‑wall training.
• Clemens – Recruit from Mauer Village, he looks nervous and trembles before authority figures such as Bours. Quiet and taciturn, he seldom speaks but often shows worry about the Charlemagne Empire.
• Roberto – A weary recruit, his face still marked by last night’s turmoil, sits beside Larry, a fellow trainee and spearman. Nervous and trembling, he is a village youth dreading war, his posture and shaking hands betray his fear, while as a militia member he voices dread of the enemy’s snipers.
• Celt – Modestly dressed tenant farmer in simple work clothes, level‑headed militia member who questions war’s civilian toll and seeks tax relief to buy land; skilled sandal‑maker, observant translator of Bours’s jargon, banquet observer admiring Teressa‑san’s competence, village gossip source, now leader of Second Squad with a calm, kind demeanor.
• Larry – 14‑year‑old third son of the Strock headman, reddish‑white skin, bronze eyes, curly bronze hair, now hosts a 40‑yr‑old former manager’s mind. Level‑3 Mana user, he battles PTSD and memory leaks from a modern Japanese past, diligently maintains militia gear, acts as medic/house‑sitter, hides fire magic, admires his sister‑in‑law, and trains to become Village Head.
• Pastor – A religious figure and likely spy for Aunt Camilla, formerly an exiled clergyman from Besanburg, now stationed on the frontier; his worn cassock bears faint embroidery of the Camilla sigil, and his guarded demeanor and frequent private correspondence suggest loyalties beyond his clerical role, with villagers wary of his quiet influence and unexplained visits from masked messengers.
• Ferris – Granny, an ageless elf who appears as a 30‑year‑old but is centuries old, runs the village pharmacy with deep magic and elf‑style healing. She claims to have known Larry’s grandfather, speaks bluntly, and is the elderly woman Martin hopes to marry.
• Iffens – Eldest son of the Fee family, village head of Strock Village and older brother to Larry, he fell in battle. Remembered as a solemn, battle‑scarred figure, his death casts a heavy emotional shadow over the household and fuels Yutia’s fear.
• Corporal – A combat engineer with shattered legs and ribs who admires Captain Bours.
• Edmond – Second son of a farm, tall, lanky, and wiry, he arrived late to the academy until Bours-san’s harsh lesson on punctuality; now a militiaman from Mauer Village and Mary’s brother, he teases Martin and Larry, mocks manual labor, and plots village celebrations—all while dreaming of the Officer’s Academy. He recently visited Larry to explain the battle’s aftermath, his restless energy still untempered, his ambition burning brighter than his discipline.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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