WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 11

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It was an ordinary-looking tavern. It was old, but the beams did not seem rotten, nor was anything badly out of place.

The hall had a bar and several tables. Upstairs, a railing looked down over the floor below.

The wooden walls were covered in a wild mess of knife marks, like a beast marking its territory. Without a word, they proved that this was no easy place.

Unlike most taverns in the slums, it was not especially loud.

People spoke quietly, played cards, sipped liquor, threw daggers into the wall instead of darts, or burned something like mugwort and inhaled the smoke.

Away from them, in a corner, several lightly armed people sat or leaned against the wall.

The one sitting down looked a little fierce, though a closer look showed that he was not very old. Eighteen to twenty, perhaps.

He frowned deeply, as though he had seen something awful. His head was half turned away, but his eyes were forced toward the thing on the table.

The severed heads of the Biltun Brothers.

"They're the right ones. Yeah. Now get this fucking crap out of here."

At his words, one of the nearby people grabbed a head by the hair in each hand and carried them away.

The man spat on the floor. Ptoo! Then, perhaps because his stomach was turning, he took a sip of the strong liquor in his wooden cup.

He looked across the table.

Arno and Ricart sat there. One was obviously a greenhorn, and the other was far too young. They made a strange pair for a place like this. Bringing in the Biltun Brothers' heads made them stranger still.

But he did not ask for their reasons or their story.

"They were such fucking bastards that the reward is pretty good for how easy they were. Thirty silver coins per head. Here, look."

He placed a document on the table.

It showed sketches of the Biltun Brothers, along with their traits and criminal records. Ricart skimmed it and caught words like women and human trafficking.

At the bottom were the seals of the Imperial Court and the constable. It offered one gold coin per head if they were captured and brought in alive, or thirty silver coins if their heads were brought in.

Then the man set a small coin purse on the table.

"Sixty in total. Count them and sign."

Without a word, Ricart pulled the purse over, untied it, and ran his fingers through the coins three or four times.

Then he spoke at once.

"Two are missing."

"What?"

"I said two are missing."

He had counted them all in that brief moment? Without even taking them out, he had only glanced through them and got the number exactly right?

"Huh... You've got good eyes. Those two are the fee. Got it?"

"Fine."

Ricart immediately accepted that and took twenty-nine silver coins from the purse.

"These are Arno's. Arno. Arno!"

"Huh? Y-Yes!?"

Arno had been looking around with a terrified expression, but only came back to his senses when Ricart called him.

"These are yours, Arno. Twenty-nine coins. It was thirty per head, but they say two were taken as a fee."

"Ah, yes..."

The courage Arno had gained from killing a few bandits had apparently shrunk again. He looked badly shaken.

He did not even refuse out of politeness. Even receiving the huge sum of twenty-nine silver coins did not leave him enough room to be happy.

After all, Arno felt as though he had walked into a tiger's den. He wanted to get out of here right away.

There had been a brief commotion outside, then they had told him to follow. Now he could not shake the feeling that he had gone somewhere terribly wrong.

"By the way, is this really the Beringen Adventurer Guild branch?"

Ricart asked the fierce-looking man as he signed the document. Signing meant simply writing his name, and his handwriting was as graceful as willow branches, like his mother's.

"No. This is an Iron Brotherhood building. Put simply, a thieves' guild."

The man gathered up the document as though it were nothing. Arno's eyes widened at the words thieves' guild.

"Huh?"

A thieves' guild was not something that could be compared to ordinary bandits.

It was organized, professional, restrained, secretive, and certain to take revenge.

Arno had heard rumors about the Iron Brotherhood because, though his work took him all over, his home was in Rainfurt.

No, there was no way he could not have heard of them. If someone lived in Rainfurt without knowing the Iron Brotherhood, they might as well have given up half their life already.

Ricart looked at Arno once, as though asking what this was about, then turned back to the man across from him.

"Aren't you an adventurer?"

"I am. But a job is whatever you call it, isn't it? Nords raid and trade too."

"Then what about the branch? The Beringen Adventurer Guild."

"That one, that one, that one, and me. We're all adventurers registered with the Beringen Guild. The rest are out right now. You could say we're staying here for the time being. It has been a pretty long time, though. If you want to do adventurer work well, whether for business or money, it's better to get along with the thieves' guild."

Arno did not seem to know whether people holed up in a thieves' guild building could call it a branch. The whole operation seemed to run without much order.

Ricart could not immediately understand why an Adventurer Guild was tied up with a thieves' guild.

"Why?"

"Why else? You need information if you want to do anything."

"Is that how it works?"

"That's how it works. Then let me ask you something. How did you kill them? The Biltun Brothers, I mean."

"I just hid and ambushed them."

"Is it really that simple? No matter how I think about it, I don't think I could have done that when I was as young as you."

"People are different."

"But this is a little too different, isn't it? Anyway, do you need something else from me?"

"I'm looking for a guide to take me to Beringen Academy."

"Why the chicken coop?"

"The chicken coop?"

"A chicken coop is a chicken coop. What are you going there for?"

Rather than explain, Ricart took out his letter of admission and showed it to him.

This time, not only the fierce-looking man but his nearby companions were startled.

"Whoa! What's this!? Have those rotten bastards started making these too!?"

"What is it? Wow, why does it look so convincing?"

"Wait, are you a noble?"

The written message wishing martial fortune upon House Calderbern surprised the man once more.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Something's wrong here."

"What is?"

"That place isn't for kids like you."

"What do you mean? Explain."

"More than half of them are bastards. The rest are commoners. There probably aren't any proper nobles like you."

It was surprising. Or perhaps unexpected was the better word. Ricart had unconsciously assumed it would be a place where children in circumstances like his gathered.

Bastards were bastards. Neither nobles nor commoners, just bastards. People born from unblessed unions and made to live difficult lives.

Nobles openly looked down on them, while commoners cursed them behind their backs. Bastards received respect from neither class.

Of course, some were entered into the family registry by the head of their house, and some forged a life for themselves despite being born bastards. But such cases were rare.

Did that matter, though? Perhaps because of how he had grown up, Ricart did not care much about status. In his previous life, he had killed everyone without distinction.

"That doesn't matter. I decided to become an adventurer myself."

"Huh? Why?"

"I want to know whether the war was worth it."

"What does that mean?"

"Fernland. There was a war there a hundred years ago. So many people suffered and died painfully. Isn't it natural to wonder whether it was worth that much?"

The man looked as though he had bitten into a bug. What was this kid even saying? More importantly, why did he care?

"You could at least gain honor by joining an order of knights, or make money as a mercenary officer. But you want to be an adventurer?"

"Then I'll become an adventurer and get both. Honor and money."

The man gave Ricart a strange look. This kid was not right in the head.

"Hahaha. You're right. Get both. Still, I didn't expect to find a junior in a place like this. Let's move somewhere else. This place is too gloomy."

The person leaning against the wall spoke. Their face had been hidden by a hood, but the voice was a woman's.

The fierce-looking man blinked a few times, then nodded.

"Yeah, let's move. I've spent so long in the shade that mold will grow on my face. Follow me, young master junior. Hurst, watch the place."

"Okay."

The fierce-looking man stood and motioned for Ricart to follow him deeper into the building.

Ricart was about to follow naturally, but then he looked back at Arno.

Arno hesitated.

"Thanks, Arno."

Then Ricart left Arno behind and followed the fierce-looking man. Whether he meant to or not, he seemed a little cold.

Arno only blinked.

They were just parting like this?

The thieves' guild building was larger and wider than expected. It connected to underground passages with sewage flowing down the middle and paths on both sides for people to walk through.

The passages split again and again like a maze. They seemed old, but they were still very sturdy. When had they been built? Had people really made this?

After following the fierce-looking man and two of his companions through the tunnels, Ricart reached a sunlit riverside.

Smuggling merchant ships came and went along the river, and there was a loading dock.

Smuggling meant bringing things in secretly, yet there was nothing secret or cautious about this place.

A river breeze blew through. It seemed to sweep away the city's stench and clear the tightness from his chest.

"I can breathe again."

The woman sat comfortably among several wooden crates. When she removed her hood, a rather pretty face appeared in the sunlight.

Her brown hair was pulled tightly back and tied behind her head. Her well-shaped head suited the style.

After watching sunlight scatter over the river for a moment, she spoke to Ricart.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Sandy. That ugly one is Bletter, and this one's Boden."

The fierce-looking man was Bletter, while the one who had not spoken at all until now was Boden.

Their names seemed a little carelessly chosen, but that was one of the traits of bastards. Their names were often taken from things like leaves, soil, and sand.

Noble names like Ricart, Abelich, and Bilter held meanings such as strong warrior, glorious fury, and guardian. Even their origins were different.

"So, you need someone to go with you to the academy?"

"Yeah."

"Want to go with your big sister?"

"Sure."

Ricart accepted without hesitation. Sandy seemed to find him cute, and a smile remained on her lips.

"Hey, shouldn't we at least introduce the chicken coop first? Or explain what life there will be like?"

Bletter said as he opened a crate and took out a bottle of liquor.

"Boden is good at explaining, isn't he? You're our information guy."

"...Do you need information to explain a chicken coop?"

"Why do you call it a chicken coop?"

Before they could start bickering among themselves, Ricart interrupted with a question.

Boden answered.

"The beds are packed together. Bunk beds. The rest of the space is only wide enough for one person to pass through, and one hundred twenty people live there together. For two years."

At the thought alone, Sandy and Bletter both twisted their faces and shook their heads as though they were about to vomit.

Boden spoke with a calm expression.

"It's not too late yet, young master. You should turn back. I don't know what you've heard that made you want to go there, but it's not nearly as romantic as you think. Never."

He was not trying to frighten or test Ricart. It was sincere advice drawn from experience.

But Ricart's answer was unexpected.

"If there's a roof to keep off the rain and it's not a cold bare floor, isn't that luxury enough?"

"What?"

"Living itself is painful anyway. Isn't it?"

Words no child should have said came from his mouth. At first, they sounded pessimistic, but there was no resignation or despair in his face.

Those unfamiliar with Ricart were often surprised by things like this. Boden was no exception.

"...Just how have you lived?"

Unlike Boden, Bletter took a sip of liquor, let out a hot breath, and readily agreed.

"Phew, you're right."

"It feels strange hearing that from a young master junior. I knew there was a reason I liked you."

Sandy smiled softly as she spoke. They had lived as bastards and knew sorrow and heartbreak better than most.

"By the way, I heard on the way here that most academy students end up crippled or dead. Is that true?"

"Yeah, it is."

"Why? What kind of academy is that? If the Imperial House supports it, shouldn't it be a very honorable thing? Does the academy do dishonorable things instead?"

"Honor? Hahaha, you know words that old-fashioned too? You really are a noble. But that's the problem. The Imperial House gives them money. That's why they fight each other until blood flies. If another guild disappears, our share gets bigger."

Sandy threw her head back and laughed at the word honor before explaining.

"I don't really understand."

"The money from the Imperial House is limited. But there are several guilds, so it gets divided between them. If another guild disappears, our share gets bigger. That's it. I hear places supported by the royal court are even more vicious because their territories are so small. Better not mess with them. They're always angry."

Even Ricart, who was rarely shaken, was inwardly dumbfounded. People killed and died over money? Then again, going to a battlefield was much the same.

"You get worked to the bone in the chicken coop for two years. If you survive, you're sent into fights and put through another three years. During that time, you're divided into upper, middle, and lower ranks. After that, you either take the final test or make a contract like us and become an adventurer. The work is mostly... You explain it, smart guy."

When Sandy looked at Boden, he spoke as though it were nothing.

"Beating down bad people, hunting wild beasts or monsters, transporting cargo, guarding caravans, work ordered from above, work that comes in as requests, official work, unofficial work. Unofficial work includes things like assassination."

"So you do whatever comes your way."

"That's right."

"Don't you go to Fernland, the Eastern Expedition Territory?"

"I think that's where the final test is held. That's where the Special Rank kids go, the ones above upper rank. Kids whose skill and nerve are monstrous. As you can see, we're not Special Rank, so we don't know much. They say those who pass the final test become the Emperor's Champions."

A champion meant a great warrior. It was an old tradition. When someone needed to uphold their honor in a duel but was too old or not skilled enough, a champion fought in their place.

Usually, a close relative or friend would go. The higher the person's status, the more honorable it was considered to serve as their champion. Many martial ballads had been written about this, the Ballads of the Champion.

In reality, however, kings and emperors had no reason to duel. So the Emperor's Champion was an honorable title, but in practical terms, it meant a problem-solver directly under the Emperor. It was different from the imperial guard that protected the Emperor.

"By the way, what was your name again?"

Sandy asked, touching her neat hair despite there being nothing to fix.

"Ricart."

"That makes you sound distant. Don't you have a nickname?"

Ricart was a name that sounded noble to anyone.

"Ricky."

"Wow, that's bold."

"What? Isn't it a common nickname?"

"Still. It's the same name as Ricky the Undying."

Whenever he began to forget, something about his previous life came up again. Ricart felt bitter inside.

"That is a coincidence. But he might not have been undying."

"No one ever killed him, and no one ever saw him dead. Some people even believe he was a god. The Church of Judgment, I think? And he was special to us too. All the suffering in that chicken coop was meant to make us like him."

"...Like him how?"

"He was the legendary Sword Master. A person who gave off light from his blade and split even rock, with superhuman physical abilities and stamina, and combat skill that could rival an army single-handedly. So many children died trying to become even a little like him."

What was this supposed to mean? Ricart could not believe it. It felt as though the deep shadow of his previous life had fallen over him.

No, perhaps it was the shadow of his present self. A shadow he could never shake off, no matter how fast he ran.

"That's not all it was."

Ricart was still reeling when Bletter spoke.

"The Sword Master stuff feels like a dream to me too, but it was valuable time, at least for me."

"I didn't know you had that kind of perverted streak."

"That's not what I mean. A lot happened to us. I think of us as family. If it weren't for that chicken coop, would we have met and still be together like this? I don't think so. If I had never become an adventurer and had spent my whole life as a bastard... What would I have become?"

Bletter, pleasantly tipsy, spoke frankly under the influence. His friends fell silent.

They simply turned to look at the river flowing onward, like time itself.

"Yeah, a lot happened..."

Boden muttered to himself. It sounded like words filled with many events, much time, and much meaning. Ricart could not yet know all of it.

Still, they did not worship Ricart because he was a noble, nor did they look down on him because he was young. They tried to see him as he was.

They themselves were open-minded, but their lives were somewhat closed off.

They did not chase only money like mercenaries, pursue only honor like knights, or live only in the shadows like thieves' guilds.

They simply trusted and relied on one another as they lived with a piece of hope.

That was Ricart's first impression of adventurers.

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