WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 103

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“I heard it from Sandy, but... has it really been eight years?”

Bletter uncorked a bottle shaped like a medicine vial and poured the liquor into a wooden cup. As he held it out to Ricart, Ricart noticed that Bletter’s left index finger was missing.

He was a veteran who had made his living by the sword for over ten years. Perhaps losing just one finger was a cheap price to pay for keeping his life.

Ricart took the cup and had a sip. It was wine, pleasantly tannic, with a faint floral scent.

Even Ricart, who knew little about alcohol, could tell it was good wine. He could also tell Bletter had brought it out especially for someone he had not seen in a long time.

A breeze from the river swept over his face. When he turned, the sunset was breaking apart across the gentle ripples.

It did not smell of dung, and it was fairly secluded, though not just anyone could set up here. Thanks to Bletter, the group had been able to settle by the riverbank.

It was just like back then. Bletter had been drinking then too, and they had spoken beside a river.

What had changed? The missing finger on Bletter’s hand? The fact that Ricart had grown older and much taller?

They sat on a tree stump and a large rock around an empty wooden crate used as a table, sharing drinks. If anything had changed, it was that. Ricart had not drunk back then.

“Is Sandy doing well?”

“Well, sorry to Sandy, but she’s my wife now.”

“What kind of thing is that to say?”

Ricart let out a laugh at the word sorry. Bletter merely smiled faintly, like the day growing dim around them.

“Anyway, Ricky, I remember you were doing well for yourself. What brought you all the way to the Eastern Frontier?”

Ricart’s fame had stopped at being known as a genius swordsman. Few people even knew whether he had taken part in what happened at the Holy Temple of the Church of Judgment, since the events there had never properly become known.

Then four years had passed, and only those who knew about his old deeds remembered them.

If someone asked whether they knew Red Cape, the usual response was, “Oh, that kid? He was amazing for his age. But is he even still alive?”

“I was just curious. They say the last hope is there.”

“...You’re still the same. What did you say back then? Something about war?”

“Whether the war was worth it. Whether there was really any need to go all the way to Fernland and fight a bloody war.”

Bletter had not understood what Ricart was talking about then, and he still did not understand now. All he could do was respect it.

And now he worried less. Ricart might be better than him, but he certainly was not weaker.

“So, was that war from long ago worth it?”

“I don’t know. You could list reasons forever. Politics, achievements, things like that. I’m sure those things matter to some people. But isn’t it more important to think about how we live now than to remain tied to the past? Bad things can become good, and good things can become bad.”

“You talk like an old man who’s lived through everything.”

“Hahaha... Anyway, are you with the Brotherhood or what? They don’t seem like a very good group.”

Bletter had once been an adventurer. He belonged to the Beringen Guild, and had practically lived as a tenant of the Rainfurt Thieves’ Guild while trying to establish a branch.

He took a drink directly from the bottle and gazed at the river as he spoke, like he had in the past.

“I don’t belong to them. I just make my living by the sword. If it pays well, I do whatever comes along. I’m not with a guild anymore either, so I’m not an adventurer. Things have changed a lot since the Emperor died. These days, if you don’t have land of your own, this is how you have to live. People are almost scattering to the winds, clan by clan. The other guilds are all the same.”

“...Really? Why?”

“Why do you think? There’s no benefit in belonging to a guild anymore. They just tell you to do this and do that, making you handle bothersome work. I’m busy enough trying to survive. Why should I listen to them? There’s no Emperor anymore. That makes the guilds private organizations.”

The Emperor’s death seemed to have had a greater effect than Ricart had thought. The Emperor had been the source of the legitimacy granted to adventurers, so perhaps it was only natural that everything would collapse once that foundation began to shake.

Yet even if organizations fell apart, the people did not vanish. Countless swordsmen had either lost their professions or left them behind.

“And as you know, most former Academy students are bastards. A lot of them resent their birth families. I hear some of them have gathered together during the confusion, attacked their families, and killed them all. Then they take the place for themselves.”

“Really?”

“I know. It sounds absurd. But that’s the sort of age we live in now. Of course, most of them get killed trying, but some manage to slip through. Things are so chaotic that even great nobles often just take their oaths of loyalty and leave it at that. Or they might not even know what happened to their vassals at all.”

Some people, like those in the Church of Judgment, bore grudges against the ruling class. Others had been born bastards or second sons and carried deep resentment of their own.

Ricart had been raised kindly, so he held no grudge against his family and had no desire to rise in status.

But others were different. These turbulent times were an opportunity. An opportunity to rise in status. And the way to seize it was to kill one’s blood relatives.

The Second Prince and Fifth Prince, glaring at each other over the Emperor’s throne, were no different in essence from anyone else.

Why can’t I become a lord? I think I’d do better. I have no right of succession? Then if I kill you, I’ll have it.

When society fell into disorder, desires people would never normally dare entertain naturally raised their heads. And when they saw someone else succeed, they were seized by ambition.

I could do that too!

There were failures as well, and those people met miserable ends. But when ambition seized them, they could not see that clearly.

Who was a robber, and who was a bandit? A chaotic world was one where it became hard to tell the difference.

“What about the Academy? Is it all right?”

“The Academy is doing better than anyone these days. A few seem to have gone under, but Beringen just keeps thriving. They say there are more noble-born students than bastards now. So donation fees are pouring in from everywhere, they don’t live in a chicken coop like we did, they wear strange tailored uniforms, and the students are better too... I don’t even get treated like a senior anymore. I’m twenty-six, and they treat me like I’m from another age. It’ll happen to you too, Ricky.”

It was good that the Academy was doing well without trouble, though that did not mean it was necessarily thriving in a way that would be good for Ricart.

Ricart was the first graduate of Beringen Academy, but he did not care to be treated specially. Even that first graduate status only existed because Carlich had given Ricart something called a diploma on his own.

Carlich had given a diploma to Ricart alone, so he had not become part of the Academy’s first graduating class with the other students. He was, quite literally, the first graduate.

Originally, the place had been closer to gathering abandoned children together. But now, the trend was gradually shifting toward admitting children from wealthy or moderately influential families.

At the center of that change was Carlich, who was establishing an educational system. Ricart had spent his years tending sheep, so he did not know exactly how things worked there now.

“Anyway, if you’re going to the Eastern Frontier, avoid the eastern road. Even if you have to take a long detour, it’s better to go north. They say the Kingdom of Adelorne is practically hell right now. The north should be safer, at least. The Viola Clan has a firm hold over it.”

“The Vio, what?”

Ricart paused at a familiar word while drinking the good wine and listening to Bletter.

Bletter seemed to know only what he had heard from rumors and Sandy about Ricart himself, not the details of his life.

Unlike Ricart, whose activities had been concentrated in the north, Bletter had worked mainly in the central and southern regions. Only Sandy had occasionally traveled around on assignments.

“The Viola Clan. They say those people made the greatest contribution during the operation against the Order. An imperial prince personally granted them land, which is rare, and recognized their autonomy too. The times changed after them. Other adventurers realized you could succeed like that as a clan without belonging to a guild, and that in the end, you needed land. Though most adventurers are still like me, roaming around looking for work.”

“Where is it? Where the Viola Clan is.”

“Britzlingen. You can get there in three or four days from here. Anyway, the Nine Swords of the Empire are an old story now. Only people who like stories ever went on about them. What did they know? But the Viola Clan is different. At this point, they’re the strongest clan in the Empire. They say criminals cannot even breathe freely around there. A man called Black Sword is the clan guardian, and now that the Emperor’s Champions are all finished, he might be the strongest person in the Empire. Maybe not if White Sword is involved. But they’re so far apart that they probably won’t ever meet.”

“...”

It felt strange for Ricart to hear about the Viola Clan and Boribori as though they belonged to someone else’s story. So much had changed, and he had not been there for it.

All he could think was that they had worked hard. They had good stamina too. Did they never get tired?

“It’s not an Academy, but they take in disciples almost like one. They say Black Sword’s students are young, but incredibly skilled with swords. Like you, Ricky.”

“Haha, I’m not exactly that young anymore. I’m married too.”

Eighteen was still a young age. But Ricart had cut down powerful enemies at such an unbelievably young age that compared to then, he had passed the age when people called him remarkable simply because he was young.

“Ah, the person from earlier, right? She was incredibly beautiful.”

“Sandy is beautiful too.”

“Maybe, for three months.”

“That’s not true for me.”

“You bastard, you’ve been properly tamed. Poor thing, getting married so young.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Ricart laughed and shook his head. He had not met many married men, but every one of them complained. Bletter was no exception.

“What about Sandy? Is she going to keep doing this work?”

“She’s nursing the children right now. Once they’re a little older, well, you know. You can’t keep your hand away from a sword for too long. She probably won’t be able to work as a swordswoman anymore. Even if she does, it won’t be easy to regain her old touch. Something could go wrong while she tries. I’d rather she didn’t.”

Ricart had not held a sword for four years, yet he did not seem to have grown rusty. Technical improvement was meaningless to him. When he swung his sword as his heart guided him, it became a new swordsmanship in itself.

“Then you’ll have to work hard, Mr. Bletter.”

“Right...”

“How about joining a clan? The Viola Clan isn’t the only clan in the world. And you used to be a clan leader yourself.”

“That’s the difficult part. At this point, I’m too tired to start again from the bottom. But I’m not skilled enough to have my experience respected either. In the end, it’s all connections. You get in through people you know. Why would a clan accept someone like me otherwise?”

“Really? You get in through people you know?”

“That’s how the world works, Ricky.”

As Bletter said, in a world without any objective measure of a person’s character or skill, recommendations were the only way into a group.

It was the same whether you were introducing someone to a lord, joining any sort of guild, or entering the army. Everywhere was like that.

In such a harsh world, at the very least, you needed the trustworthiness of someone trusted by a person you trusted.

“Then let’s do this. Come to Britzlingen with us. I’ll introduce you to the Viola Clan. I’m from that clan, you know. I’m even one of the founding members.”

“...Really?”

“Of course. We chose a violet as the clan’s symbol for eternal friendship. You don’t belong in a place like this, Mr. Bletter. I know that.”

“I’d be glad to, but... wait. If you’re a founding member, why were you tending sheep?”

“I just wanted to rest. Anyway, I don’t know whether it’ll work out. But just asking is an opportunity, isn’t it? Come with us.”

Bletter had no reason to refuse. In times as dangerous as these, having a stable job was perhaps a dream.

Ricart had said it lightly, but opportunities often came flying in as lightly as little bluebirds.

“I’ll bring more drinks first.”

Bletter rose and headed somewhere. As a lover of drink, he seemed to intend to bring out every good bottle he had collected.

The sunset passed, and before long, stars were blooming across the sky.

After resupplying their travel provisions in Wertheim, Ricart and the group headed north with Bletter, who had newly joined them.

Ricart traded his shabby clothes for a gambeson and proper boots, dressing once more as a swordsman. At a blacksmith’s shop, he had the old hilt and guard of his sword replaced.

When he placed the sword in a scabbard with no ornament beyond what it needed to function and fastened it at his waist, he looked much as he had before. No, he looked even more imposing and dignified now, taller and broader than back then.

Yet perhaps because it was so familiar to him, he still walked with a cane despite his youth.

The migrants bound for the Eastern Frontier felt as though they were receiving more luxury than they deserved when three swordsmen, Ricart, Marie, and Bletter, traveled with them.

Hiring skilled swordsmen as guards did not cost just a little money. If they had possessed that kind of money, they would never have needed to leave their homes in the first place.

The road north from Wertheim descended gradually into lowlands, so it was no harder than usual.

Perhaps because of that, people’s faces had brightened, and they spoke more often. Marie seemed excited as well and kept playing jokes. Bletter teased the young married couple.

Even Bremen, the guide who always worried, set his concerns aside for the day. Everyone took turns holding Dalia’s baby, as if each person were offering the child a blessing. His name was Riche, right?

It would have been wonderful if they could reach the Eastern Frontier like this, but that was only a dream.

A road stretched through green fields, and beside it stood a very old, enormous oak.

Yet instead of acorns, people hung from its branches in clusters.

It was what people called a gallows tree. You saw one from time to time when traveling the world.

The people’s laughter stopped cold. No one spoke any longer.

Bremen looked around vigilantly. While Bletter and Marie guarded the group, Ricart went ahead alone to inspect the tree.

No, he inspected the state of decay of the corpses.

Their soft eyes and lips had already been entirely eaten away by crows and insects. Maggots pattered onto the ground, then became flies and took to the air.

Ricart crunched through the grass around the tree as he inspected the other bodies.

An ordinary person would not know, but Ricart noticed that each corpse had decayed to a different degree. That meant they had died at different times, and that people were being hanged here regularly.

Yet from this gruesome scene alone, he could not tell whether this had been done by evil people or was the result of just punishment.

Only a smell more foul than the livestock dung he had smelled earlier pierced his nose.

But Ricart did not frown. Whether the dead had committed sins in life or not, it was as though he were offering them one final tribute.

White clouds drifted through the blue sky. The cool fields would have been a good place to raise sheep or cattle.

When he turned, he saw what looked like a village in the distance. There were no signs of fire, but there was no sign of people either.

Then a young voice called from behind him.

“Travelers? Going to the Eastern Frontier?”

Ricart turned to find a boy and a girl standing there. They looked about fourteen or fifteen. Though if fifteen meant adulthood, perhaps boy and girl were not the right words.

The girl’s reddish-brown hair was tightly tied behind her, while the boy resembled Ricart in some way. Ricart from when his fame had been at its height.

Both had swallow embroidery on their chests and swords at their waists.

As the wind blew through the fields, Ricart answered.

“The Eastern Frontier.”

“Then you should turn back. Or go east.”

“I heard the east is hell.”

“This place is hell too.”

“Then where are we supposed to go?”

“How should I know? Isn’t that for you to decide? You came from Wertheim, right? Stay there for a few months, then set out again.”

The boy remained silent while the girl alone spoke with Ricart.

“And if we keep going?”

“I don’t recommend it. You and the people behind you will die.”

“Unless you have spirit. You are wearing swords.”

The boy spoke for the first time.

Ricart snorted at the word spirit. No matter how many opponents there had been or how strong they were, he had never once avoided a fight, and he had never lost.

“What kind of spirit do you two have, wandering around a place like this?”

“Not spirit. Our master told us to. He said that every good person we save adds another reason for us to wield swords.”

“That’s admirable. Who is your master?”

“You wouldn’t believe us if we told you. Nobody does.”

“Is that so?”

Ricart turned away as though to say that they need not tell him if they did not want to. He looked once toward the distant village, then back toward the group.

Bletter, Marie, and the others were looking in the direction of Ricart and the two youths.

“Black Sword, Bori. He’s our master.”

“Hard to believe, right?”

The boy and girl spoke. Ricart turned back to look at them.

Then he said,

“Well, if I told you that I taught Bori, you would find that hard to believe too.”

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