WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 114

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It only took a moment. Just a moment. That was all the time needed to kill someone.

The enemies stared blankly at Ricart as he leaped down from the huge boulder. A streak of light cut through the air.

The one with pointed ears did not block or counterattack, instead retreating far away as though fleeing. The others were not so fortunate.

They hastily drew throwing weapons or thrust out hooked spears, but they were terribly slow.

Something seemed to sweep past like the wind, then flashes filled their vision and their necks, arms, and shoulders burned. Those were their final memories, sensations, and thoughts.

Once they had allowed Ricart within range, attack and defense meant nothing.

Their numerical advantage meant nothing either. It took only a moment for six or seven armed people to die without even realizing they were dying.

There was no blood on Ricart's blade, but he habitually shook his sword as he watched the one who had fled into the forest's shadows.

The figure looked back and forth between Ricart and the burning sword, fear and greed mingling in their eyes. They could not face Ricart in battle, yet still coveted Ricart's heart.

"You're Ricky, aren't you? Red Cape."

Had they not known already? Ricart neither confirmed nor denied it.

He could see straight through the other's vile nature, and a scornful smile came to his lips.

"Now that I look at you, you don't understand demons at all... You're nothing more or less than a pig soaked in gluttony."

"Talk all you want. There are many of us, and we grow stronger by the day. In the end, you'll fall miserably too."

"Having more mana will change nothing. Only a mind both deep and broad grants greater insight. Not that you'd understand even if I told you."

Ricart approached to kill them, but as expected, they fled.

Their movements, however, were extraordinary. Like the one who had leaped from the cliff before, they jumped far beyond human ability and reached the branches above.

Had they developed a Mana Drive that lightened the body? It did not seem especially useful in an immediate fight, though. Otherwise, they would have done something.

The figure looked down at Ricart from the branch, then bolted the moment Ricart made to throw a stone. Throwing stones had been one of humanity's favored and powerful techniques since primitive times.

They stepped from branch to branch and vanished in an instant.

Ricart considered what to do for a moment, then pursued in the direction they had gone. His goal was less to catch them than to assess the other enemies.

Sure enough, before long, more and more people were gathering where the signal flare had gone off.

They had been spread widely apart and were now converging on the center, so Ricart could find them quickly without having to search the forest.

He hid behind bushes and trees, then pounced like a tiger and finished them off in a single rush.

Splitting into small units had its advantages, but its weakness was equally clear. They could be defeated one group at a time.

Furthermore, the enemies had never imagined they would be counterattacked, so they could not even flee properly. Communication soon failed, and their whole network began to fall apart.

Meanwhile, some people reached the peak where the group was hiding. Seeing Bori standing guard over the steep, narrow path, they did not rush in headlong. Instead, they began trying something from a distance.

They threw some concoction mixed with tar or something similar, then fired flaming arrows at it.

At first, Bori wondered what they thought they were doing to a mere rocky mountain. Before long, though, thick, acrid smoke began to rise. Far more smoke than expected.

Bori followed Ricart's judgment, but knew that a changing situation had to be dealt with accordingly. So Bori left the path and charged at the enemies.

When Bori drew the sword once called Ghost Sword, which Bori had named the Nameless Sword, its blade was covered in a color like starlight shining in the dark of night.

Unlike Ricart, though, Bori had a difficult time fighting while avoiding troublesome throwing weapons and nets. One wrong move could lead to capture or serious injury.

So Bori repeatedly pressed the enemies alone, fell back, then attacked again.

Bori needed to finish them off in one stroke and move on, as Ricart did, but defending was a different matter.

The enemies tried to find a detour up the mountain and surround Bori from both sides. But there, they ran into Hartmann's family, Bremen, and Marie.

They had come for Bori in the first place, and wondered why these people were here. No matter how good their communication network was, it was difficult for all the first discoverer's information to be relayed accurately.

Hartmann and the others felt their hearts sink. Smoke was billowing up from below, and they feared a fire had broken out. In truth, there was no fire.

The enemies were just as startled, but Marie, who had plenty of battle experience, drew Ricky, the Famed Sword. Its length and width were close to the golden ratio, an exceptionally well-proportioned blade.

Marie slashed with it as swiftly as a raging wave, or a whip. One enemy who had climbed up while clinging to the rocks was cut across the neck and fell below.

The people beneath were startled. The thick smoke also obstructed the enemies' view, so they could not clearly see what was happening above.

"What's going on?"

"There must be more enemies."

"Didn't they say there was only one Sword Master?"

There seemed to be many temporarily hired people among them.

Capturing a Sword Master was an extremely dangerous and difficult task, but they had thought it manageable if they committed enough people.

But if there were more enemies, that was a different matter. Was that not against the terms of the contract?

They immediately spoke to someone from the clan that had hired them.

"There are more enemies. You'll need to raise the payment."

"How much more do you need?"

"Double it for every additional enemy."

What kind of absurd demand was that? True to form, the mercenaries seized their chance to name a ridiculous condition.

No one knew how much money the Rubens Clan had, but no matter how wealthy they were, they could not accept an offer like that.

There was room to bargain, of course, but there was no time for that in such an urgent situation.

"Move aside. We'll handle this."

Left with no choice, the swordsmen of the Rubens Clan decided to act themselves.

The mercenaries withdrew without the slightest regret, as if to say that was fine by them. They would work for what they had been paid. Why should they risk their lives more than necessary?

Using their characteristic body-lightening technique, the Rubens Clan swordsmen bounded straight up to where Marie stood. The terrain did not allow many people to come up at once, but that did not apply to them.

The moment they appeared, Marie swung her sword as though she had been waiting.

A violet flash surged through the hazy smoke, and the Rubens Clan members fell into disarray. Two died absurdly easily.

Yet rather than being shocked or saddened by their comrades' deaths, their eyes widened greedily at the sight of Marie's sword. Their way of thinking had long been twisted by greed.

"There's another Sword Master."

"Spread out!"

"Someone get above her!"

Perhaps their greed had surpassed even their fear of death. They looked as though they were ready to drool over Marie. Like a swarm of gnats, they darted around her and began to surround her across the rugged terrain.

As Marie was encircled from the front, back, and sides, she found herself in a difficult position. If she attacked aggressively, the others would be exposed. If she only defended, they would be surrounded.

And those light movements. Not even trained acrobats could move like that. They seemed to possess some special method of controlling mana.

It was like a fight where each side held both favorable and unfavorable cards, precarious as walking on thin ice.

Marie had one final option. She could abandon the others. Alone, she might be able to break through the enemies and join Bori. Even if she could not, she could simply kill everyone who stood in her way and leave.

But Marie was not that sort of person. Just like her husband, she would not even consider such cowardice, even if it cost her life.

What choice was there? There was no such thing. There was only what had to be done at the risk of one's life.

Then one of the Rubens Clan members shouted at Hartmann's family.

"Attack that bitch from behind! I'll give you whatever you want!"

Marie flinched and looked back at the people she was protecting. Betrayal by someone one trusted was the deadliest move, something even the finest swordsman could do nothing about.

My resolve is firm, but what about yours? Distrust and doubt passed through her heart.

But it was needless worry. Just as Marie had no choice, betrayal had never been an option for them either.

Without a moment's hesitation, Hartmann stepped forward with his axe and shouted loudly and firmly.

"I don't need it!"

Then he charged at the one who had been harassing Marie by constantly attacking and retreating from the right.

Sadly, the enemies had experience fighting Sword Masters. They were not people who would fall to the axe of a mere lumberjack.

They did not merely evade him. They counterattacked with ease. The axe cut through empty air, and the enemy slashed deeply into Hartmann's side.

"Father!"

"Dear!"

His wife and children cried out as one. But the real shock came after that.

Though his side had been deeply cut, Hartmann gritted his teeth and endured it. With blunt, stubborn strength, he seized the enemy, dragged them close, and slammed his head forward. Not once, but several times.

Thud! Crunch! Thud! Crack!

The enemy's face caved in completely, and they died. Blood streamed from Hartmann's forehead and covered his face. In that state, he looked toward his family and shouted.

"Don't come!"

Where did human strength come from? Clearly, it was not merely strength or mana.

Shining courage and unyielding resolve seemed to show just how strong a person could be. Even if the result was meager. Even if they did not survive.

The survivors are strong, rather than the strong surviving? To hell with that. Hartmann did not want to live that way. He was that kind of man, that kind of father, that kind of husband.

No matter how fiercely the world whipped him, he endured it with his broad shoulders and chest.

However, when a precious clan swordsman was killed, the enraged comrades attacked Hartmann. Marie struggled desperately, but it was too much. Nor could she tell Hartmann to retreat now.

As Hartmann suffered sword wounds all over his body in an instant, he suddenly seized an enemy in a tight embrace, then forced them both forward with an iron will and threw himself into a field of sharp, jagged rocks.

In his final moments, regret over killing the priest, guilt toward his family, and hope for the future even without him filled Hartmann's heart.

"Aaaaaah!"

For a moment, everyone stared at the scene in shock.

Then Hartmann fell with one enemy into the rugged terrain and burned to death valiantly. Without a trace of hesitation.

By this point, even the enemies were thinking, What is this? Aside from the Sword Masters, the others seemed like ordinary people, yet their fighting spirit was enough to unnerve them.

But those who had lost someone they loved could only stand dazed. Before grief or anger, they were simply numb. Reality felt like a lie.

The acrid smoke grew thicker, as though to cover something.

For a brief moment, silence fell. Then one enemy who had regained their senses shouted.

"Take them hostage!"

Marie cried out in alarm.

"Press yourselves against the wall!"

Marie's violet sword flashed through the smoke. But she could not drive back every enemy who leaped freely about with feather-light bodies.

With the situation like this, Bremen, Roy, and Beka stepped forward as well. Was this the final moment Ricart had spoken of?

The fight looked as though a tiger were protecting chicks while eagles and hawks swooped in from every direction to snatch them away.

Suppressing the grief that had belatedly risen within him, Roy gritted his teeth and focused as he faced an enemy. But the opponent seemed to be playing with him.

Roy was not poorly trained, but he was no match for the Rubens Clan swordsmen.

In the end, he could barely exchange a few blows. With a circular, binding maneuver, the enemy knocked Roy's sword far away, then instantly reached out to grab him.

Roy nearly dropped to the ground as he bent low and barely avoided the hand. Then his hand touched something on the ground. It was the axe his father had used.

It was heavy for a boy to wield. But if swung properly, it required less strength than expected and was far more powerful than a sword. The hard part was striking the exact point.

Since childhood, Roy had sometimes played with it when his parents were not looking. That was the extent of his experience with an axe. Yet in that moment, he made the most of centrifugal force and swung it powerfully.

Memories from when he was very young and all the training he had undergone came together in an instant.

Crunch!

Whether he had aimed for it or struck by luck, the enemy's knee was blown apart.

Startled by the unbelievable reality, the enemy's body tilted as everything below one knee disappeared.

But Roy moved as though it were a single motion. After striking the knee, he swung the axe behind his head and brought it down with all his strength.

Whoosh! Crunch!

Before the enemy could even fall to the ground, the axe blade buried itself in their face and killed them.

That made five dead Rubens Clan swordsmen. Marie had killed two, Hartmann two, and Roy one.

Five highly skilled swordsmen was by no means a small loss. The pressure they had been putting on Marie suddenly eased, as though they had passed a turning point.

Then the red cloak fluttered through the smoke.

Ricart appeared without warning and swung his sword. Before anyone could react, one person died and rolled down the rocky mountain.

At last their offensive broke, and Marie finally rushed out to kill the enemies.

With the situation reversing in an instant, the confused enemies stumbled and rolled down the mountain in every direction. Only one or two fled in a desperate hurry.

"Marie. Roy."

Having killed more enemies than anyone else, Ricart hurriedly checked on the group. Other than being soaked in sweat and having disheveled hair, Marie seemed unharmed. Roy looked dazed.

"Ah... Father..."

Roy barely managed to speak. Ricart spotted Hartmann's body below the shelter, dead alongside an enemy. Damn it.

"Let's go help Bori first."

Ricart said it while holding on to his reason. Fortunately, it seemed things had been settled there too, as Bori came up panting.

Looking around, the mercenaries had also withdrawn from sight. Fewer reinforcements had come than expected, and after belatedly learning that Ricart had killed most of them, they had simply left.

Even so, there was no joy in victory. The late afternoon sun shone brightly, but the smoke made everything pale and dim. The windlessness was stifling.

Ricart slowly climbed down where there was no path in order to recover the body.

Ricart held and supported the others as they descended, and they all gathered around Hartmann's body. He picked up the ugly enemy and threw the corpse far away.

Since Hartmann had fallen to his death, the state of his body was rather gruesome. Crushed and broken.

They had always lived with anxiety over death, while believing they had accepted it in their own way. But when reality came, it was hard to believe.

"Sniff... sniff..."

Elia, his wife, was the first to begin sobbing. She threw herself over her husband's body and cried, and her daughter cried too.

Roy only stood still and watched.

"Roy."

Ricart put an arm around his disciple's shoulders. Roy buried his face in Ricart's chest and said something unexpected.

"You said I should handle negative emotions well, didn't you? What should I do? You said it depends on how I choose to think, but do I have a choice? Do I? Is there really such a thing?"

Ricart's heart ached. After thinking deeply for a moment, he asked the disciple in his arms.

"Are you angry?"

"At everything. Including myself."

As a son, and because he loved his father, self-reproach flooded Roy. If only he had trained harder. If only he had talent. If only he had sold out his friends in the Viola Clan. All kinds of thoughts tormented Roy, whether they were right or wrong.

"Think of your memories of your father. The good ones. You can take your time accepting this. There is no need to hurry. You did nothing wrong. Keep your grief and anger. Hold them dear. But..."

Ricart trailed off. He felt the front of his clothes growing wet.

"Leave becoming a demon to me. I promise you, those bastards will pay the price in blood. You only need to keep respecting and loving your father."

Ricart wanted to protect the noble character that had only just begun to sprout. It had not yet grown into a great tree, and could easily be broken or twisted by the wind and rain.

It only took a moment. Just a moment. The time needed to kill someone, or to let oneself go.

That was why Ricart volunteered to become a demon, so he could hold up the collapsing Roy.

A demon among demons. It was not pleasant to bring that out when necessary, but Ricart believed that someone with experience should bear it.

It was time to show those pigs who did nothing but eat hearts what a true demon was.

But now was the time to mourn. Covered in pale smoke, the peak looked as though it were dressed in white mourning clothes.

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