WeTried Translations

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 113

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Why could he not do it? Why? They both had arms and legs. Ricart finally stopped thinking that way.

Just as some things came naturally to him without thought, some things simply did not come naturally to others. He had finally accepted that.

What I can do naturally, others strain themselves to achieve somehow. The true difference between them and me is not whether they can do it or not, but what they desire.

Those who desire something and those who do not. Anyone who desires something is bound to suffer for it.

Therefore, anyone who desires must be prepared for unhappiness, and desiring happiness is a contradiction from the start.

That did not mean he needed to call those struggling within that contradiction foolish. If he asked himself, “Am I truly wise?” he did not think so.

Through the sword, Ricart reflected on one aspect of humanity. Now he could see it. A little.

“Um... how was that?”

In the secluded backyard of the Longhouse, Roy had been swinging his sword for a while, changing his stance as he went, when he cautiously asked, gauging Ricart’s reaction. Roy was still young, so the sword was rather large for his frame.

The donkey looked bored as it chewed on bean stalks, watching the young master and young disciple.

Ricart stared at his disciple for a moment, then emerged from his thoughts.

“You couldn’t even kill a frog with that.”

Roy immediately looked dejected. Well, a master had to teach reality when it needed teaching.

“Don’t get too fixated on form. The point of practicing stances is to get rid of unnecessary movements and put your strength into the right place. But if your stance keeps you from putting strength into it properly, then you’ve got it backward. Don’t forget the essence while practicing your stances. Can you feel any mana?”

“No...”

“That’s fine. Plenty of people can feel mana and still have terrible swordsmanship. Even swordsmanship alone, if properly mastered, leaves you without an equal.”

That was only true by Ricart’s standards. An ordinary person who practiced swordsmanship alone would have a hard time standing against someone who wielded mana.

Ricart still seemed to need more reflection.

“But to cut off someone’s neck with a wooden stick like you do, Master, you need mana, right?”

“You little brat, always obsessed with looking cool. What would you even do with that? It’s just a cheap trick.”

“Looking cool matters too. If it looks cool, it makes you want to do it.”

“Does it? I suppose it does.”

Ricart tilted his head. He had no sense of authority as a master, and even when his young disciple spoke, he seemed willing to accept what was worth accepting.

“But arrogance is forbidden. If you ever end up in a real emergency, don’t worry about stances. Quickly stab them in the stomach. The stomach. Got it? What if they’re wearing armor?”

“Aim for the inside of the thigh.”

“That’s right. People usually don’t armor that area properly. You don’t even need to cut them. Just think of it as slicing. Or aim for the knee. Surprisingly, people can’t defend it well.”

Ricart taught practical knowledge whenever he could, not just swordsmanship. Roy nodded as though committing every word to memory.

“When I think about it, a sword is like a vessel that holds the heart. Or maybe a mirror. People do not only have good sides. Negative feelings can oppress and eat away at you, but they can also become excellent weapons against your enemy. A sharp blade will hurt you if you handle it badly, but if you use it well, you can defeat enemies and protect yourself and those precious to you. In the end, perhaps training with the sword is a process of mastering your heart. You should not simply avoid or suppress negative emotions. You need to handle them well.”

Just as his past life and the Ricky of today walked opposing paths while still being connected as one, Ricart shared not merely teachings with Roy, but realizations he had come to recently.

That was why the level of his lessons varied wildly. At times, they were so advanced that even a renowned swordsman would struggle to understand them. At others, he could barely teach the basics. One thing was clear. He showed his own thoughts and actions exactly as they were.

Roy was deeply influenced by such things. That included everything from when he first met Ricart to the way Ricart confidently went to collect payment for a cow.

It might have been too soon for a beginner, but how much Roy understood was up to him. Perhaps, because he had not yet been worn down by the world, there were things he could understand better.

“So even negative feelings depend on how you use them.”

“But you have to handle them carefully, as though you’re touching a truly sharp blade. Most people only ruin themselves with them. I did too. It all depends on what you decide in your heart. It is your choice.”

“Yes. I’ll remember that.”

“Good lad.”

Ricart ran a hand through Roy’s soft blond hair and gently pinched his cheek. He was such an adorable disciple, though Ricart also felt sorry for him. Having to suffer like this at such a young age.

“Let’s go.”

Ricart spoke.

After spending two days at the Longhouse, Ricart and the group set out again. They descended underground stairs, emerged through what seemed to be an old sewer, and continued northeast along a mountain path.

It seemed to be a path used only by those who knew it. They did not encounter a single person. The dense trees seemed to conceal a secret, while the towering peaks stood like silent witnesses.

It was late spring. The sunlight breaking into small pieces between the branches felt as fresh as new sprouts.

Thud, thud. Magnoli the donkey’s hooves made a tranquil sound. The animal carried people, and the people walked with their burdens on their backs.

“If anything happens, I think it would be better to head toward the mountains.”

Ricart said this to Bremen.

“Why?”

“When people who don’t know better get scared, they tend to run into the forest where they can hide. Then they end up isolated from their own side too. From the mountains, we can keep a better eye on the enemy below, and we won’t get separated.”

It sounded like plain common sense, but one would not know it without experience. Bremen stared at Ricart for a moment.

“...Have you lived as a mercenary too?”

“No. I’ve done something similar.”

Ordinary swordsmen lacked combat knowledge. Training with a sword and living in a group while carrying out military operations were entirely different fields.

Still, just as crayfish and crabs resembled each other, people who made their living with blades could have things in common.

“Well, you are a swordsman. Don’t worry. I’ll keep watch.”

Bremen nodded.

Ricart kept Roy at his side and spoke with Bori. Marie took Beka along, and Beka looked at Marie with admiration in her eyes.

With Ricart and Marie naturally watching the children, Hartmann and Elia walked together as intimately as they might have during their newlywed days.

There were many people in the world, and each had their own desires. At that moment, this group’s wish was simply to make their way safely along the road as they were.

But as always, violence and tragedy came suddenly, as if to ruin a dull or peaceful daily life. Like unwelcome guests that arrived against one’s will.

As they rounded a bend in the road, several men were blocking the way. More precisely, they were not standing there to block it. They seemed to be sitting around, passing the time out of boredom.

It was neither an ambush nor a surprise attack. It was closer to both sides running into each other without knowing the other was there. So at first, they simply stared blankly at one another.

Just as the tension began to rise, the strangers saw Bori riding the donkey and froze.

The group immediately understood what the change in their expressions meant. A sense of foreboding ran down their spines.

By the time Bori swiftly dismounted and drew a sword, the others had taken something out as well. It was some strange iron tube. When they raised it overhead, flames shot high into the sky.

Pheeeew! Boom!

For a moment, Ricart, Marie, and the others looked up at the firework bursting high overhead.

Hartmann and his family, who had never seen fireworks before, stared wide-eyed. Meanwhile, those who had launched it quickly fled from the road and into the forest.

Bori started to pursue them, then hesitated. Turning toward the group, Bori spoke.

“I think we need to go up the mountain. Now.”

Bori did not look particularly frantic, but the situation was serious.

Ricart instinctively knew this was dangerous. The fact that they had not charged in blindly, but instead spread their people out and established a means of communication, meant they were operating in an organized manner.

Was heading for the peak the right choice? What if they already had people stationed there? Where would the enemies come from?

Such questions came to him, but as always, Ricart made his decision quickly.

“Bori and Marie, guard the front and rear. I’ll check the peak first.”

“Okay.”

Without delay, Ricart’s cloak fluttered as he ran rapidly up toward the peak. He moved almost as quickly as if he were running across level ground, all while scanning his surroundings swiftly and precisely.

In some places, the slope was steep enough that he had to pull himself up with his hands. In others, he had to step carefully from place to place.

As Ricart rounded a boulder and climbed higher, a spearpoint suddenly flashed right beside his face.

Ricart leaned his head back to avoid it, then seized the shaft and yanked it hard. Rather than being dragged along, the opponent simply let go of the spear. They were skilled.

Then several people leaped down from the rocks and descended on Ricart as if to split him apart.

Ricart looked up and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. For a moment, time seemed to slow, then lightning burst from his waist.

Shhhiiing!

Several weapons broke in half at once, and limbs and torsos alike were sliced apart. Clang! Bladed weapons rained down to the ground, followed by bodies dropping heavily after them.

After crushing the unexpected ambush with a single stroke, Ricart thought, I knew this would happen. Running toward the mountain had been part of a plan to ambush them from above.

Those Rubens bastards were as persistent and cunning as ever.

Ricart leaped up onto a boulder a little taller than a person. Looking down, he saw someone trembling in a corner.

They were not a prisoner. They were an enemy as well. But when the moment for the ambush came, fear had kept them from attacking alongside their comrades.

“I understand being scared, but I don’t have time to wait for you. You’d better answer quickly. Where are your remaining comrades?”

The person pointed somewhere in the mountain, their hands shaking like aspen leaves.

“How many?”

“A-about ten...”

“Are there some in the forest too?”

They nodded.

“How many altogether?”

They shook their head, as though they did not know.

Ricart quickly learned what he could, then stabbed them with his sword and killed them. After that, he ran like the wind toward the place they had indicated.

The terrain was rough enough that there were almost fixed routes one could use to climb it, and the enemies had been lying in wait at those points. This time, however, Ricart ambushed them instead and killed every startled enemy.

He tossed the bodies away to clear them out roughly, then scrubbed the ground with his foot to hastily wipe away the blood.

Just as he finished cleaning up, he saw Bori coming up from below.

“Over here.”

When Ricart called out, Bori turned to look.

It was a clever spot where those above could clearly see below, while those below could not find it without looking closely. That was likely why the enemies had chosen it as an ambush point in the first place.

Ricart spoke to the others as they came up behind Bori.

“I’ll just give you the important points. You saw the firework earlier, right? Enemies will be coming soon. But we are not going to break through them or run away. We don’t know their numbers, and we are not familiar with the terrain, so that would be more dangerous. We are going to defend this place like a fortress. Do you understand? This is our best option right now.”

Bremen and Hartmann’s family were not completely panicked, but it was still a startling situation. They could only listen blankly to Ricart.

“The paths up here are limited, so a large number of people cannot rush us all at once. If we stay alert, we can defeat them whether there are dozens or hundreds. Bori, guard the path. Marie, stay right beside everyone. Bremen and Hartmann, do not rashly try to help these two. You’ll only get in the way. Think of fighting only at the very last moment, and defend this place. Understood?”

As Ricart gave his instructions, it felt as though a storm had swept through. Bremen and Hartmann only nodded with grim expressions.

“What about you, Master?”

Roy asked.

“I’m going to attack. Attacking is a form of defense too.”

“Can’t I come with you? Like your squire?”

Ricart smiled and stroked his disciple’s head.

“I’ll accept the thought. Hold on to it. It isn’t time yet.”

Then Ricart ran a short distance away from the path and sprang up. His red cloak fluttered, and he landed perfectly amid a tangled cluster of boulders.

He hopped from rock to rock down a route that was not even a path, and vanished from sight in an instant. At that moment, Roy felt a greater emptiness than he expected.

Had it been about a month since he started traveling with Ricart? It felt like at least a few weeks had passed, for sure. They had always stayed together, so being separated now made him feel as though he had lost his way.

His family was precious, but as a boy grew into a man, he naturally came to admire the world. If Roy’s father was a pillar within him, Ricart was something of an ideal existence.

Meanwhile, seeing the signal flare, members of the Rubens Clan scattered throughout the area began to gather.

Like detachments, they consisted of as few as five or six people and as many as fifteen or so. Their equipment truly resembled that of an army.

Only a small number carried close-combat weapons such as swords, axes, or maces. The rest were armed with crossbows, large shields, nets, billhooks, and throwing weapons.

They differed from ordinary clan swordsmen because they knew what sort of being they were tracking. They understood better than anyone that they had no chance in a direct confrontation.

But being afraid of a tiger and knowing it was strong did not mean you could not hunt it. If they tracked it, drove it onward, and wore it down, even a Sword Master was made of flesh and bone and could not endure forever.

What they overlooked, however, was that they might be hunted instead. It was difficult to imagine that a tiger could possess tactical thought and the ability to put it into action.

The first small group to arrive at the location encountered a person standing atop a large boulder.

Shimmering blond hair blew in the wind, and a red cloak fluttered. With a sword at his waist, he looked down at them. It was Ricart.

Looking down at them, Ricart got a rough sense that this could not be the whole force, of their formation, and of what tactics they might employ accordingly.

They were quite capable, he thought. It sounded simple, but dividing a whole force into small units and operating them was a far more difficult tactic than it seemed. Each small unit had to work well together, and they also needed to understand the broader picture.

Then, among the six or seven people below, one person stood out. They wore black clothing embroidered with antler-shaped patterns.

Their ears ended in points, and their fangs protruded, making them look like a vampire that had begun to degenerate. Their skull was somewhat elongated from front to back as well, making Ricart wonder whether they were truly human.

They said they ate hearts. Did it cause some kind of physical transformation? Looking down at them, Ricart spoke.

“You once abandoned your honor as a swordsman. Have you thrown away your pride as a human now too?”

The person looking up at Ricart sneered.

“Hmph. What even is a human? I don’t know. Do you?”

“Look in a mirror. Then at least you’ll learn what is not human.”

“Beast, human, monster, it makes no difference. They all die and rot away. Only strength has meaning.”

“Then what happens before greater strength? If you cannot even inspire fear, you will lose your meaning as a monster too. Pitiful bastard.”

Perhaps no further conversation was needed after Ricart’s sharp rebuke, born from deep insight. The opponent gestured to one subordinate.

Someone holding a preloaded crossbow aimed it at Ricart. Twong. The bolt flew.

Ricart did not hide behind the boulder. Instead, he threw himself forward.

It was as though a figure with red wings was flying toward them. As he drew his sword in midair and raised it high overhead, flames ignited along the blade, like an optical illusion born of sunlight.

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