WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 10

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It was around noon when they arrived in Rainfurt.

The mornings and evenings were still cold, but once the sun was fully out, the weather was pleasantly cool. Perfect spring weather.

A long line stretched before the city gate. For some reason, those not permitted to enter had pitched tents beside the city wall and were living there.

People sold them daily necessities and various other things, and business flourished. Outside the walls had become a living space of its own.

Was this how cities expanded? People settled outside the walls, built houses, and eventually the city grew larger.

In any case, the line moved faster than expected, and soon it was Ricart's group's turn. Arno and the merchant proved their identities.

Only then did Ricart learn that the merchant's name was Kauffman.

He dealt in dyes and pigments and appeared to run a small trading company. Yet considering he had taken a carriage through the mountain pass despite knowing bandits were there, he did not seem especially bright.

“You killed the Biltun brothers? Who are they?”

“The bandit leaders. The wanted bandit leaders. This is Young Master Ricart, the famous Boar Slayer of Stormhertz. He split their bellies open in an instant, then slit their throats. I saw it. I saw it myself.”

Arno seemed to know the gate guard and chatted with them for a while.

Still, rumors kept growing more exaggerated without regard for Ricart's wishes, and now he had a nickname too.

Boar Slayer, of all things.

The guard stared at Ricart.

Blond hair, hazel eyes, and a somewhat grimy appearance from not washing for several days. No matter how the guard looked at him, Ricart was just a child.

The guard wondered whether Arno might be boasting, but Kauffman silently nodded and confirmed it.

“He hasn't received knightly instruction for long, but he was born with extraordinary talent.”

Ricart said nothing, yet Arno puffed out his chest as though he himself had done something worthy of pride.

“What is so special about knightly instruction? Isn't it just running errands for knights and maintaining their equipment?”

“What do you know?”

“Nothing, I suppose. But you and I have only heard stories. In any case, welcome to Rainfurt, Young Master.”

The guard was not excessively respectful, but they showed the proper courtesy.

“Come to Handel later and I'll tell you all about it. I killed four bandits too.”

Handel was the tavern Arno frequented.

The guard raised an eyebrow as if they could not believe it.

“You? Fine, I got it. Move along. I have work to do. Next!”

The guard made a broad gesture and called for the next people in line.

At last, they passed through the shadowed gate. Sunlight fell over Ricart again, brightly revealing the city's neat buildings.

The roofs were tiled in gray, dark blue, or red. Their walls had been plastered and carefully finished by professional plasterers. Buildings of two stories or more stood packed tightly together.

To be honest, the city's buildings looked better than the Stormhertz manor where Ricart had grown up.

Stormhertz manor was a kind of old castle built long ago. It was too small to truly be called a castle and too large to be called an ordinary house, so people simply called it a manor.

The people walking the streets looked busy, and they were clearly better dressed than the country folk of Stormhertz.

Kauffman told Ricart to follow him for a moment so he could give him a cloak. He led them along the city wall.

The area appeared to be where merchants and craftsmen gathered. The cheerful sound of iron being hammered rang out, while tanners worked on hides. The smell of chemicals stung Ricart's nose.

Kauffman stopped his carriage in front of a fabric shop, greeted a few people he knew, and went inside. When he returned, he carried a neatly folded red cloak.

He held it out to Ricart.

“I suppose this is where we say goodbye, Young Master. Thanks to you, we reached the city safely. Please accept it. The materials were expensive, so I made it a little small, but it seems the God of Fate arranged things especially for you. Hahaha.”

The cloak was as red as blood.

It had been made entirely from a material worth its weight in gold, so it was an incredibly expensive item.

Ricart took off the cloak he had been wearing and put on Kauffman's red cloak right there.

It had a hood, and the hem was longer than he was tall. But after gathering it up a little and fastening the clasp, it fit well enough.

“Is there nothing for me?”

Arno, who had been watching from the side, asked Kauffman.

Kauffman looked displeased, as though asking what Arno had done to deserve anything.

“Didn't you run away at first? The one who risks danger first takes everything. It is the same in business, and the same for those who earn merit on the battlefield. If you want payment, collect it from the young master.”

It sounded right at first, yet somehow not quite right either.

At the suggestion that he demand payment from Ricart, Arno shut his mouth.

“Once we sell the heads, we can split the money.”

“It's all right, Young Master. I was only joking.”

“No. You did help me. But what will happen to those people?”

Ricart looked toward the people unloading baggage from the cart.

“I've decided to hire them. I was planning to expand my business anyway, and I needed people. We shared life and death together, so surely they're better than hiring complete strangers. They need somewhere to stay in the city for a while, and I need workers. It works out for all of us.”

The people would probably be dyeing cloth.

Ricart had heard on the way here that they had fled their territory because of excessive taxes.

Even after cutting back on their own food to offer grain, it had not been nearly enough. They had eventually borrowed grain, only for the interest to snowball.

The funny thing was that the same lord who collected the taxes had lent them the grain.

The lord collected taxes, and the lord also lent grain at usurious rates.

More absurdly, leaving the territory without the lord's permission was a crime.

So were they criminals, or victims of injustice?

Ricart simply felt some kind of kinship with them.

Still, there was nothing more he could do for them. Their brief connection ended here.

Then someone tugged on Ricart's clothes.

He was not surprised. He had a feeling he knew who it was.

When he turned around, it was indeed Daisy.

“I'll feed you, give you somewhere to sleep, and take care of everything. Let's live together. We're husband and wife.”

Her voice was slightly tearful.

Ricart was at a loss for words, but Arno glared and spoke.

“The young master treats you well, and now you've lost your mind. Hey, you dirty bitch. At least have a wash before saying something like that. You're shameless.”

“You don't have to say it like that...”

Ricart spoke weakly.

Arno's tongue seemed sharper than the sword he wielded.

“No, Young Master. Didn't I tell you? Treat people well and they take liberties. Know your place, bitch. Stop clinging to the young master and get lost.”

Daisy's face twisted as though she were about to burst into tears.

But she did not cry.

She seemed to be a strong-willed child. Still, she clutched the hem of Ricart's new cloak and could not let go.

Daisy's mother, who had been organizing baggage, rushed over and pulled her daughter away.

“I'm sorry, my lord. She still doesn't understand anything...”

“It's all right. I'm not upset either.”

Ricart smiled kindly.

Daisy's mother made an expression that was difficult to describe. She seemed moved, yet at the same time unable to believe it.

“...You are truly kindhearted... And thank you. God of Judgment, please look away from this young master.”

Daisy's mother opened her hand and covered her own eyes with the back of it.

The God of Judgment?

What was that? A god worshipped by farmers? Ricart had never heard of such a god in Stormhertz.

In any case, receiving someone's heartfelt thanks gave him a strange feeling.

It made his heart feel soft somehow.

“Take care, Daisy. And you too, Kauffman. If we're alive, perhaps we'll meet again someday.”

Leaving that brief connection behind, Ricart followed Arno toward the Beringen Adventurer Guild.

Only then did Daisy bury her face in her mother's arms and begin sobbing loudly.

Just as there were shadows wherever there was sunlight, Rainfurt had them too.

The clean buildings and paved roads had impressed Ricart when they first entered through the gate. But once they turned into the alleys and reached the slums, he wondered whether such a miserable place could truly exist.

The clogged sewers reeked of every kind of filth mixed together.

It was hell for humans and paradise for rats.

Yet one interesting thing was that the district was not entirely gloomy.

People drunk since midday shouted songs at the tops of their lungs, while cheap prostitutes cackled with laughter. It was lively, in its own way.

That did not make it any less miserable.

“The Adventurer Guild is in a place like this...? Are you sure this is right?”

Thinking they might have taken a wrong turn, Ricart asked Arno, who was walking ahead.

But Arno also tilted his head with an uncertain expression.

“I've only heard about it. This is my first time coming here myself... I only heard that it was near the Ghost Tree. Wait a moment. We're almost there.”

After they turned the corner, they saw a tree that looked as though it had died long ago.

Its thick trunk twisted wildly, like a person screaming.

The area around it was an empty lot piled with garbage. Nearby stood a shabby building with people going in and out.

Could that really be it?

Arno's confidence had swelled after killing the bandits, but now it shrank again like air escaping from a balloon.

This was a high-crime area.

People were often killed, their bodies tossed into the gutter. No one felt particularly sorry for them, and such incidents rarely became official cases.

“Let's go ask.”

Thinking that nothing could happen in broad daylight, Arno approached the people at the entrance.

It was unclear whether they were guarding the entrance or merely passing time nearby. They sat atop a pile of broken wood, rolling dice over a small table.

“Excuse me, may I ask something? Is this the Beringen Adventurer Guild branch?”

The people who had been studying two rolling dice with serious expressions all turned to look at Arno.

Then they looked at Ricart behind him.

“Who the hell are you?”

A man with a scar over his eye spoke in a confrontational tone instead of answering.

“I am a courier with the Imperial Guild Office. I came here on business.”

“Imperial? Guild Office? What's that?”

“Pardon?”

“I said, what the fuck is that?”

The man growled without warning, like a rabid dog.

Arno had only asked a question, yet he had been cursed at. Dumbfounded, confused, and frightened, he could only blink.

He could not speak.

They did not know the Empire?

What did that mean?

“Arno, step back.”

Ricart spoke from behind him.

His expression did not change, but his eyes were cold.

While Arno stood there, unable to move forward or back, Ricart untied the strap of the basket slung over his shoulder.

Then he carried the basket toward the group.

As a boy in a red cloak approached, they looked at him as if wondering what this was supposed to be.

Ricart stared at the scarred man for a moment. Then he tipped the basket's contents onto the table, where dice, copper coins, and gambling pieces lay scattered.

Thud. Clatter.

The objects seemed fairly heavy as they landed on the table, coins jingling as everything was thrown into disarray.

Until then, the people had begun to scowl, looking ready to rush at him.

But when Ricart flicked away the cloth wrapped around the objects, the situation changed completely.

Eek!

“Fuck! You scared me!”

Crash!

The people, including the scarred man, leaped to their feet or fell backward, trying to get away from the severed heads as quickly as possible.

“Guys! Come out!”

Someone shouted.

As though they had been waiting nearby, men poured out of the building.

They naturally formed a circle around Arno and Ricart.

“What is it? What's going on?”

“What? What?”

“What the fuck is this?”

The men who came outside widened their eyes when they saw the heads rolling across the table.

Arno darted his eyes around like a frightened rabbit, having no idea what to do in this situation.

While everyone else was frightened or confused, only Ricart spoke as though nothing was wrong.

As though he controlled the situation itself.

“They're the Biltun brothers' heads. I came to collect the reward.”

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