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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 100: The Shepherd with a Sword

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For a person to carry God’s heart was like suffering from an illness. They felt a great sorrow for the world.

So, to recover, Ricart had left worldly life behind with Marie and spent his time tending sheep. He fell asleep looking at Marie at night, and when he opened his eyes in the morning, Marie was there.

In truth, though, it was closer to simply passing the time. They did their work, walked through the fields holding hands, watched the sun set. That was all.

Without purpose or regret, they lived by enjoying each moment as it came.

When travelers occasionally passed through, they offered them food and the barn. If they were not decent travelers but bad people, they killed them. That was their only connection to the world.

Then uninvited guests arrived.

“I asked you to keep it secret...”

Ricart said to Bremen as he drove the sheep into the stable.

There were not many sheep. Just four or five grown sheep and three or four lambs. He separated the lambs and their mothers into different pens.

Sheep were surprisingly poor mothers. It was better not to keep them together except when the lambs needed milk.

After putting the sheep away, Ricart turned to Bremen. Now eighteen, Ricart was an adult by anyone’s standards.

He seemed to stand over 180 centimeters tall, with a solid frame and broad shoulders. His rolled-up sleeves revealed forearms that were not monstrously thick, but clearly held great strength.

“I’m sorry about that. But we couldn’t just stand there and let the bandits attack us.”

“That’s true.”

Ricart looked toward the barn. The wounded man and a few others were inside, while the rest sat outside in tents. From the look of it, they were not staying just a day or two. They would have to wait for him to recover.

Marie came out after giving first aid to the wounded man. She wore a practical blue dress and had covered her hair with a white cloth, a sign that she was married.

She approached while wiping her hands on the stained apron she always wore. Even after washing them, the bloodstains had not entirely come out.

Marie was tall enough that she stood only a little shorter than Ricart.

“How is it?”

“Fifty-fifty.”

Ricart asked, and Marie answered. It was a dry exchange. Fifty-fifty meant the wounded person had equal chances of living or dying.

Marie leaned an elbow against the stable fence, standing crookedly as she asked Bremen. Compared to before, there was something more tough and capable in her manner.

“Has it been about half a year? What happened to the people who came with you last time?”

“They all died.”

“Bandits attacked them?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“They killed one another. Discord comes for both the strong and the weak.”

“...”

Ricart and Marie both knew the world was in turmoil, but hearing it directly still left a bitter feeling.

“Where did you say you were taking those people back then?”

Ricart asked.

“The Eastern Frontier.”

“The Frontier? Not Fernland?”

Ricart tilted his head, not understanding at once.

They had not spoken much when they first met, so Ricart only now learned where Bremen was leading these people.

“The expedition set out a hundred years ago, didn’t it? Now it’s a frontier. A refuge for those who are weary and exhausted, a place of salvation, their last hope.”

“That place? It’s hard to believe.”

Ricart remembered Fernland as a hellish place that should not have existed in this world. Yet it was salvation and a last hope?

He could not readily believe it. At the same time, he was curious. Another part of him wondered how that could be possible. Surely it could not be.

“Whether you believe it or not, more and more people are heading there. Most die along the way.”

“...Have you been there, sir?”

“No.”

“Then isn’t it a scam?”

Ricart had always been somewhat like this, but he spoke especially bluntly now.

“They all died before reaching Rotweil. Have you heard of Giant’s Gate? You must pass through there to reach the Frontier. If my party doesn’t fall apart before then, I too will finally head for the Eastern Frontier.”

Ricart knew Rotweil well. It was the city he had reached after passing through Griffinswald during his days as an Academy student. Alter, was it? That was where the branch chief of the Beringen Guild had been.

He had taken on a commission to pursue deserters there, and meeting them had left his heart troubled.

An immensely tall mountain range stretched north to south, dividing the Empire from unknown lands. Even though it was summer, the wind blowing from the mountains was cold.

“Anyway, I hope we may impose on you for a while. I’ll speak with the others and see if we can at least give you a calf.”

He seemed to be trying to pay them somehow, since he had no money at present. Of course, Ricart was not the sort to accept money for this.

“It’s fine. It isn’t difficult or inconvenient. Right, Marie?”

Marie nodded.

Bremen felt strangely as he watched the couple. It was as if they were beings beyond the realm of ordinary people.

They helped people without much reaction, and they killed people without much reaction. They were not normal people.

Above all, Ricart’s astonishing skill was far from normal. He had cut off people’s heads with a wooden stick.

Before judging whether he was skilled or not, one had to wonder whether that was even possible.

That was why Bremen was curious about the young man’s past.

“May I ask? What did you do before you became a shepherd?”

The young couple smiled at the same time. It was a smile filled with many meanings. Now, they could express all those hardships and suffering with a single smile.

Of course, it had not all been difficult. If it had, they probably would not have made it this far.

“Well, heroes have often come from shepherds since ancient times. People don’t know it, but this work is harsher than it looks. It naturally improves your stamina and fighting ability.”

That was true. If sheep were left in one place, they would eat even the roots of the grass and ruin the land, so they had to be constantly moved.

A shepherd walked through mountains and fields all day. If wolves or bandits appeared, they needed enough strength to survive, even if they could not defeat them.

They could fight through their enemies and run quickly to a village to warn everyone, or handle them alone. In his past life, Ricart had often dealt with them himself because the village was too far away. With nothing but a staff.

Perhaps that was when he became used to fighting alone.

More than anything, shepherding required responsibility. If one wanted to, it would not be difficult to steal a few lambs.

When Ricart answered evasively, Bremen gave an awkward smile.

“Ha ha... Is that so? Yes, I have heard as much.”

“Anyway, we won’t take money. Please stay comfortably. If you help out with things while you’re here, that’ll be enough.”

There was plenty they could help with, such as repairing the stable or fetching water.

Ricart had only returned after spending several days wandering the fields, so he went into the cottage to rest.

In a way, they had been quite lucky. In this vast field, they had met Ricart at the right time, when they needed him. When one thought about it, the world held many miracles.

As Ricart and Marie walked toward the cottage, people watched them. Knowing they were uninvited guests, with nothing to offer in return, they seemed deeply uncomfortable and awkward.

Ricart reassured them with a smile.

Near the cottage, he took off his shirt and used a dipper to wash from a jar that collected rainwater. His firm muscles gleamed beneath the sunlight.

When he went inside afterward, Marie was taking off her headscarf. She turned while smoothing her slightly disheveled hair. Though she had lived as a country wife all this time, her beauty was dazzling.

If Ricart had one eternal truth, it was that Marie was the most beautiful woman in the world. He held her face and kissed her.

After they had done what they needed to do, Ricart looked back on the present with his usual objective perspective. More precisely, the words “Eastern Frontier” stayed on his mind.

The days that had been like hell naturally came back to him, but they did not pain his heart. He only felt something like longing for Caldebert, his first friend.

If he had one regret now, it was that he should have stayed by Caldebert’s side a little longer.

No matter how far one withdrew from worldly life, perhaps people could not truly separate themselves from the world.

He had not left society because he had grown sick of the world or become disillusioned with it. Perhaps he had simply become tired of running forward without looking back.

God’s heart. Well, Ricart did not want to bind himself to such a grand concept.

Four years. If he had been ill with something, that was more than enough time to heal. Now, he even found himself wondering whether he had really been sick.

Leisurely tending sheep and feeling Marie’s skin were excellent remedies. Nothing was better for calming the mind and body.

But now, his heart kept drifting far to the east.

That place had once been covered in fire, steel, blood, and death. How had it changed enough to become people’s last hope...?

After sleeping deeply, not merely for a nap but through the morning, he woke in the afternoon.

When Ricart stepped outside, blue skies, warm sunlight, and a cool breeze greeted him. But even such scenery lost its impact after seeing it every day.

Two cows peacefully grazed in the field, while the young calves did not wander far from them.

The children played by climbing onto the cows’ backs or petting the calves. The older children took turns caring for the wounded man and helped Marie carry things.

Ricart heard the sharp crack of wood splitting and turned toward it. A man was chopping firewood with an axe. He seemed to be trying to repay them, however little, for letting them stay.

They were not bad people. They looked like simple, honest folk. Still, considering they had left their homes to go somewhere so far away, the stories buried in their hearts were probably dark.

As it happened, three young ruffians from Bremen’s group had been captured by bandits, leaving only three adult men. One of them was wounded and fighting for his life.

Moreover, Bremen was old. Between Bremen and Hartmann, there was practically no one but Hartmann who could fulfill the role of an able-bodied man.

Ricart did not need to hear their circumstances to know how vulnerable this group was. All he could see were women and children.

Sensing someone behind him, he turned and saw a boy who looked about eight or nine. He stood there hesitantly, both hands hidden behind his back.

“Do you need something?”

“Ah, no, it’s just, this...”

Shyly, the boy brought something out from behind his back. It was a flower crown decorated with red, yellow, and white spring flowers.

Ricart suddenly thought of Boribori, who liked flowers, and smiled without meaning to. Did he still like them?

“I’m sorry. I don’t have anything else...”

“What are you saying? This is a wonderful gift.”

Ricart accepted the flower crown and placed it on his head. It fit surprisingly well. The boy must have observed the size of Ricart’s head from afar.

When Ricart gladly accepted his gift, the boy seemed to relax a little.

“What is your name?”

“Roy.”

“I’m Ricky. Nice to meet you. Stay as comfortably as you like, so you don’t have to worry about what I think.”

“Thank you.”

Perhaps embarrassed again, Roy ran over to his father. Hartmann, who had been chopping wood while watching them, tucked his son under his arm and gave Ricart a slight bow.

Ricart bowed back, then went to the stable and let the sheep out. Leaning on his staff, he headed into the fields.

When he returned around evening, the wounded man had died. He had three daughters and a son. Yet his children did not cry before their father’s grave.

It was not because they were not sad. They lived in an age accustomed to death, accepting it as a part of everyday life. Children of this era knew death was never far away. And since their father had been wounded, it was not entirely unexpected.

More than anything, anxiety and worry over how they would live from now on crushed any grief they felt.

The next day, Bremen’s group took down their tents and prepared to leave. They did not beg Ricart for further kindness. They were simply grateful for what they had received and set out again.

Ricart stood with Marie and calmly watched them go. They would probably die. They would be killed by sudden violence that struck before discord could even arise.

Marie spoke.

“Want to follow them?”

“...Yeah. Let’s.”

No great resolve was needed to end four years of shepherding.

Just as they had suddenly left worldly life behind, they would simply move forward again.

Ricart and Marie went into the cottage, pulled up the wooden floorboards, and took out the equipment they had buried long ago.

The holy sword, or perhaps a demonic sword, was wrapped in cloth. Ricart had not looked at it since using it once, so its hilt and guard were rusted and worn beyond use. He would probably have to visit a blacksmith and replace them.

Yet the blade glinted with impossible sharpness, as if enchanted, though it had not been tended even once.

Marie had dressed properly in travel clothes, but Ricart had grown so much that his old things no longer fit. The only things he could take from before were his sword and red cape.

A red cape over shabby shepherd’s clothes. It did not suit him at all, but there was nothing to be done.

After gathering what they needed, the young couple went to the stable and simply released the sheep into the field. They could have easily gone to a nearby village or city and sold them, but they did not.

Ricart merely watched the sheep walk away across the field. Marie looked at him and said,

“Ricky, standing like that, you look like some kind of wizard.”

It was ridiculous, but she had a point. He wore shabby clothes and a red cape, carried a sword in one hand, and leaned on a staff with the other. He did look rather comical.

Marie had somehow brought along the flower crown and placed it on Ricart’s head. He looked even more ridiculous, and she burst into laughter by herself.

Ricart smiled as well.

“Let’s go.”

Leaning on his staff, Ricart walked with Marie toward those setting out on a long journey. His red cape fluttered in the wind.

Chapter 20: The Shepherd with a Sword. End.

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