WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 110

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For a brief moment, they had tasted heaven. Now they had been driven back out into a world of cold, hunger, uncomfortable beds, and bandits everywhere.

His steadfast father said nothing, while his mother and sister only looked after Roy. Not a single word of blame passed their lips.

Watching Hartmann’s family, Ricart thought of his own. Their unconditional support, consideration, and love.

He had thought it once before. I already have everything.

Roy seemed to have had it too, but reality was not so kind.

Guilt weighed heavily on the boy’s heart. His family was suffering because of what he had done.

Would everything have been fine if I had simply said I had not done it, that I was innocent and Les was the one responsible? I would survive, but what would happen to Les?

Perhaps it was not friendship that kept him silent. Perhaps he simply hated the idea of telling on someone. He did not want to become an informant. Friend or not, he did not want to sell someone out just to save himself.

Even so, he could not know whether his choice had been right. His respected father did not know either. Nor did his beloved mother.

That was why children needed teachers. Someone to shape and nurture them where parents and family could not.

Children needed someone who could forge gems and stars that would one day shine brilliantly.

Unfortunately, Ricart did not have much talent for teaching anyone.

It was a cool spring day. The world might be dangerous, but most of the time was simply boring until brutal violence suddenly came crashing in.

That was everyday life in these times. Boredom, followed by sudden horrors beyond endurance.

Thankfully, things were peaceful now.

Ricart stood in grass that reached his knees, glaring at Roy with an expression like he had bitten into a bug. Roy was diligently swinging a stick, but he was terribly awkward.

Ricart had corrected his stance several times, but nothing much changed. Unable to bear it any longer, he finally said something.

“Hey, you’ve got arms and legs, and so do I. So why can’t you do it?”

Roy stopped swinging the stick. After quietly considering his master’s rebuke, he answered.

“Uh... Master, you’re used to it because you’ve done it so many times. I only just started, right?”

Ricart was briefly stunned by the unexpected answer, but quickly recovered.

“I could do it from the beginning. No one taught me either.”

“I see.”

“You see?”

“If I work hard, will I someday be able to cut people’s necks with a wooden stick like you do, Master?”

“You think just anyone can do this? You’ll have to be a hundred years old before you get this good.”

It was impossible to tell whether he was teaching Roy or trying to crush his spirit, but thankfully, Roy was not discouraged.

In truth, Roy was not without talent. He was not especially gifted either. He was exactly where an ordinary child his age should be.

But that ordinary level frustrated Ricart. He could not understand having to repeat one movement over and over to master it. Having to repeat it for days, months even.

The truly important things were elsewhere. Things like this should come quickly. Those thoughts filled his mind.

He had never experienced the difficulties and stumbling blocks ordinary people faced, so he could not understand them. All he could do was press Roy, asking why he could not manage it.

“Watch carefully. The important thing is shifting your center of gravity and putting your weight behind it. You can’t cut flesh and bone by swinging only your arm. Focus on planting your foot. Your arm only guides the sword’s path. But don’t relax too much either. Honestly, this is frustrating.”

Trying to put into words movements that came naturally to him made Ricart feel sick to his stomach.

“Please give me a little time. I’ll practice hard and get used to it as soon as I can.”

“...You really are good with words. You should have defended yourself that well back then.”

Of all the people Ricart had taught, even briefly, no one had ever talked back to him this much. Still, Roy was not rude, so Ricart did not dislike it.

“I’m not good at lying. But it’s hard to tell the truth exactly as it is, too. Still, I do wonder whether I could have handled it more wisely.”

Roy lowered his head as though remembering that time, his face growing downcast. Seeing him like that did not sit well with Ricart.

“...You brat.”

Ricart patted Roy’s head. The boy was about the same age Ricart had been when he left home. Roy was nine now, and would soon turn ten after his birthday.

His hair was blond, and he had inherited his father’s sturdy build. In many ways, he looked like Ricart. Anyone who saw them might have mistaken Roy for a younger brother or a son Ricart had had early.

Ricart did not tell his disciple what he should or should not have done. Because I do not know either.

He could only watch over Roy, hoping the boy would think deeply and grow through those thoughts.

Roy’s nature was strong and beautiful. Ricart believed he would turn out well. That was really why he had accepted him as a disciple, so it did not matter much if he was poor with a sword.

“Ricky! Roy!”

It was Marie’s voice. When Ricart turned, he saw her calling to them from beneath a tree. It was time to eat.

“Yeah, well, take it slowly. I’m just worried you’ll die of old age first.”

Ricart led Roy toward the tree.

When they sat beside Marie, Roy acted like a proper disciple and made sure Ricart had food before serving himself. Everyone smiled as they watched the little boy fuss over him.

Gathered beneath the tree to eat together, they really did feel like a family. Bremen was the grandfather, Hartmann and Ricart were brothers, each with a wife, something like that.

The sound of branches swaying in the wind tickled their ears beneath the shade.

Roy quietly watched his mother scrape together and eat only what was left after looking after everyone else. There had been plenty to eat there. And his mother had been dazzlingly beautiful.

“Mom...”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry...”

At her son’s apology, Elia smiled more gently than anything in the world.

“No, I’m sorry. Being together is what makes us happiest, but I forgot that for a while. I did not even know you had gone through something like that.”

The family knew Roy was innocent. They had also learned afterward that he had been bullied for five days.

“...I’m full. You eat this, Mom.”

Roy stopped eating his plain rice porridge and offered it to her. Elia took only a little before saying,

“I’m full now too. You eat it.”

They kept telling each other to eat the small amount of porridge left. Then Bremen cut in.

“I don’t have much appetite, since I’ll be dead soon enough. Have this.”

He set down the bowl he had been eating from, rose, and went somewhere else. It was a warm sight, yet one that made their hearts ache.

The meal suddenly became quiet. Only the wind brushing over the grass could be heard.

Then Marie softened a hard piece of bread in her mouth with water and looked at Ricart.

“You’re not teaching him as harshly as I expected.”

“Do you think I enjoy tormenting people?”

“Really? From what I heard, Volka learned while getting beaten senseless, Bori got scolded constantly, and you taught Ice and me by sparring so harshly it almost seemed cruel. Who was it recently? Kaspar, maybe? Anyway, I heard those kids nearly died.”

“You’re my friends, not my disciples. Kaspar and Yulia are Bori’s disciples. Roy is my disciple.”

“Oh... So you can tell the difference?”

“What? Why are you picking a fight all of a sudden?”

“I’m only saying it because I’m impressed.”

Marie grinned, amused by teasing Ricart. At the same time, she knew her husband was struggling.

“Still, Ricky, you raised three Sword Masters. That makes you successful enough. Roy will do well too.”

“Marie and the others became that way on their own. It’s not because I did anything for them.”

“Oh... Are you being humble?”

“Seriously! What is wrong with you today?”

When Ricart snapped, Marie burst into laughter and nudged him with her shoulder.

“I’ll teach him in the afternoon. Since he’s my husband’s disciple, that makes him my disciple too.”

“Does it work like that?”

“A husband and wife are one body.”

Ricart was not sure that made sense, but after the meal, Marie took Roy aside to teach him.

Ricart watched from a distance with little interest, thinking it could not be all that different. But after some time passed, Roy was doing much better than when Ricart had taught him.

What?

Marie’s swordsmanship was rooted in the Kelbron family’s swordsmanship. It had been refined over a long time, with strong, systematic fundamentals.

Marie had also trained harder and more harshly than anyone since childhood. She understood every stage of improvement, so she could immediately grasp Roy’s learning ability, talent, and current level, then teach him accordingly.

Ricart found it hard to accept what he was seeing. This could not be right!

“How about I teach him in the morning, and Ricky supervises him in the afternoon?”

Marie said this as they were about to set out again after teaching Roy for a while.

“...”

“Why? Are you upset because I seem better at it?”

“No?”

“You are upset.”

“I’m not. I’m completely fine because I’m the better teacher.”

Having lived apart from the world together for four years, Marie could read Ricart better than anyone. She knew how to handle him, too.

“Ricky, you can only really help someone once they reach a certain level, so I’ll establish his fundamentals first. Then you won’t get frustrated, and Roy will be able to understand your teaching better. Doesn’t that sound good?”

Listening to her, it seemed right. Ricart felt some of the pettiness in his heart ease.

“If you really want to do it...”

Marie could not hold back her laughter. She knew her husband’s one weakness was that he wanted badly to teach people well, but his eagerness got ahead of him, things did not go well, and he was always frustrated.

She had known it since he wrote the swordsmanship manual. She had been the one helping him then.

And it was not entirely wrong. Even someone at roughly the pinnacle of mastery could understand only a little of what Ricart said.

In any case, it worked out well for Roy. One of the few Sword Masters in the world taught him the fundamentals, while someone who had surpassed even Sword Masters guided his path. Even a king would struggle to enjoy such a luxury.

Since they were teaching anyway, they included Roy’s sister Beka as well. Judging by talent alone, Beka seemed better.

Teaching the siblings together let them spar with each other, and their skills improved quickly. Still, there was no dramatic, noticeable change.

The group simply continued silently toward the Eastern Frontier. By now, it was hard to say what they were even going there for. Salvation? A new home? Because of Hartmann’s crime of killing a priest? No one knew.

Walking the road of life was like confronting endless questions. At one point, you found an answer, and that answer raised another question.

Some settled down midway and found rest. Others kept walking.

And faith bloomed among them. Slowly, but surely. People who had first been wary and distant now protected one another.

“What will you do when we reach the Eastern Frontier, Bremen?”

Ricart asked as they climbed a mountain pass. The southeastern Empire had an especially large number of low mountain ranges and basins.

“I suppose I will return to the Crossroads and guide people again.”

“Why? You will not settle there?”

“Well, I suppose I have become addicted to the look in the eyes of those who carry their last hope. Watching it is how I go on living too.”

“I do not really understand.”

“My family all died. The people I knew as well. There was nothing very dramatic about it. They fell ill, they grew old, and one by one, they passed on. When I was left alone in my house, I wanted to die. Then I saw people leaving for the Eastern Frontier, and I began guiding them without much thought. I was once a mercenary, so I know the terrain.”

Ricart had nothing he could say. He had never experienced such a thing, so he remained silent.

“Is it amusing?”

“No. I just thought you were like a butterfly.”

“A butterfly? Me?”

“A butterfly drawn to the flower called last hope. A butterfly that will die if it cannot drink the flower’s nectar.”

“...I see. Perhaps that is true. You are rather like a poet.”

Ricart smiled faintly at being called a poet.

“What do you think this time? Will we make it all the way?”

“Ha ha, I do not know. But Hartmann’s family is a fine one. And you are a fine teacher.”

“And you are a fine guide, Bremen.”

“No. When hope’s nectar runs dry, I will flee. Am I not a butterfly?”

“Even so, that is all right.”

Bremen, whose white mustache was striking, looked at Ricart and smiled with a face steeped in the years. It was a smile like a wildflower, rare to see.

Ricart walked up the steep path, thick with sharp stones. When he looked back, Hartmann was silently following with a heavy burden on his back. His family carried loads as well, large or small.

They carried those heavy burdens for the sake of a hazy hope with no clear substance.

Come to think of it, hope was simply something one held onto while moving forward. Even if the destination brought something different from what one expected, even if disappointment came, it was not letting go.

What happened when one did let go? Ricart knew best.

You became a devil. A monster. That had happened to him, and it had happened to the Order.

Life and hope, the things beyond dreams. Ricart wanted to protect those who possessed them. There would be no more fire and steel.

Could that really be true?

As they neared the crest of the pass, Ricart saw people standing above. Travelers, or bandits?

He raised a hand to stop the group, then climbed alone. The people above wore swords at their waists and were lightly equipped, but their neat appearances and complexions made them seem unlike ordinary thieves.

Even when they saw Ricart approaching from below, they did not particularly guard against him or draw their weapons to threaten him.

When he came close enough, Ricart spoke.

“I want to pass through.”

“Pass through.”

“No toll?”

Bandits and robbers always used tolls as an excuse to take money, which was why Ricart asked. At that, the three swordsmen gave quiet laughs.

“We are not bandits. We are only looking for someone. Go on through. Ah, before that, have you seen a swordfighter traveling on a donkey?”

Ricart shook his head.

“I have not.”

“He has a tawny bowl cut and is rather short. But if that black sword catches you, something terrible will happen. He is called the Black Sword. Do you know him?”

“...”

Ricart had not expected to hear news of Bori here, and for a moment, he was speechless.

But when Ricart’s expression changed, the three swordsmen sensed that he knew something.

“You know him, do you not? Bori, the Black Sword.”

“Why are you looking for him?”

“He stole our clan’s secret manual and ran. We will reclaim it and hold him responsible for his theft. No matter how strong he is, whatever means it takes. So tell us nicely. Let us not make this troublesome for each other.”

One of them drew their sword as they spoke.

They could not be sure whether Ricart really knew Bori, but they thought they would find out soon enough after cutting off a few fingers.

Meanwhile, the three swordsmen eyed the gold bracelet on Ricart’s wrist. They might not be bandits, but temptation came with the sight of valuables.

Still, we had been expelled from the clan headquarters over theft, and now theft again? Ricart had heard he went looking for the Codex. Had he really gone to steal another clan’s secret manual? That little bastard Bori.

Thinking it was truly strange, Ricart drew his sword as well.

“I do not know what clan you belong to, but pick your opponent carefully before drawing your swords.”

“Hmph. You only dare draw your sword before us because you do not know our clan.”

“What clan is it?”

“Rubens...”

Rubens had once been an Adventurer Guild, but it had since become an established clan, like Viola.

It was the clan that had ambushed Ricart during the Imperial Swordsmanship Tournament and poisoned him. It had nearly been destroyed by Ricart, only to surrender and offer up treasure.

How strange that they would meet again here after so much time. Honestly, Ricart even felt a little glad to see them. So he gave a mocking laugh and said,

“You are just as needlessly persistent as ever. But unlike then, no one is here to stop me now. You idiots.”

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