WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 116

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Rain fell in a steady drizzle. The plants and earth grew wet, and it felt as though their hearts were growing wet as well.

Ricart and the others sheltered from the rain in the forest. They built a fire in a shallow hollow beneath a broad, flat rock that jutted out like an eave.

When it rained, vegetables such as potatoes and carrots could start sprouting in the damp, so they had to be eaten quickly. They roasted everything they could and ate it.

Elia and Beka sewed quietly. Ricart and his friends quietly tended their swords. Bremen quietly watched the rain. Roy simply remained silent.

Sadly, they were no longer the Hartmann family. Roy was now the only male in the family.

A somewhat heavy silence hung over them, but Hartmann’s wife and children did not sink into grief. They were strong, but more than that, they did not have the leisure to lose themselves in sorrow.

Life went on, and reality was harsh.

That did not mean his death had been meaningless. It had affected everyone who knew him in one way or another, leaving something behind.

The sound of rain and the crackling campfire filled the space he had left behind.

Then Elia, who had been sewing, suddenly spoke.

“I was fifteen. One morning, I woke up and found an unfamiliar flower resting by my window. It had bright red petals and yellow stamens. I asked my mother, and she told me it was a camellia.”

It sounded as though she was recounting an old memory, and everyone listened closely.

“Throughout that cold winter, there was a camellia by my window every morning without fail. I wondered who was leaving them there, so I tried staying awake all night, but I always failed. Whenever I woke up, there was a camellia by the window, just as there always had been.”

“Did Father leave them there?”

Beka asked, her eyes shining. But Elia’s answer was unexpected.

“No. Your mother was popular with the boys in the village when she was young. There was not just one person leaving camellias. It was something like a village tradition for expressing your feelings.”

“...What?”

“But your father was the only one who never brought me flowers. That made me curious. I was the one who confessed first. When the camellias fell and bore fruit, I pressed oil from the seeds. Then I gave it to your father.”

“Is it fashionable these days for women to make the first move? This one chased after that one too. Got rejected a few times, right?”

Bori suddenly spoke up. Marie’s face turned bright red, and she glared at Bori as though ready to kill.

“Why are you bringing that up now?”

“I just thought of it while listening, that’s all...”

Marie was so embarrassed that she looked ready to claw Bori apart. Ricart hurriedly stopped her.

“But he treats you well now, doesn’t he?”

Elia said to Marie.

It had taken some hardship for them to come together, but once they had, Ricart sincerely cherished and loved Marie.

Anyone traveling with them could see it. On the surface, they were a couple who seemed more like friends, but beneath that was a deep affection.

Elia turned to Roy again.

“Your father gave me everything. He devoted everything to me. The day bandits attacked the village, he protected me instead of his own family. That was why I could be happy with him through any hardship. He was the finest man. And the finest man is always accompanied by the finest woman. I hope you become the finest man too, Roy.”

There was a hint of mischief in Elia calling herself the finest woman. She smiled and raised her eyebrows as she said it.

Perhaps she was trying to show her child a bright face despite being steeped in grief. Or perhaps she had buried her sorrow in her heart and was trying to regain her strength with hope.

“I do not blame you for standing up for the friend who falsely accused you, Roy, even if it was not the wisest choice. The path of right faith is difficult by nature. I will always support you. No matter what happens, I am on my son’s side. Roy, you will grow up to be the finest man like your father, and a wonderful man like your teacher.”

Whether she was the finest woman was hard to say, but she certainly seemed to be the finest mother.

Roy did not cry. He merely lowered his head, as though thinking about something, or making a vow.

“Thank you, Mother.”

The boy who had lost his father seemed changed somehow. He appeared deep in thought, and he resembled his quiet father in some way.

Rain fell. Their hearts grew wet. Yet they were never miserable. The living remembered the dead and accepted the lives that remained.

After the rain stopped, they set out again. The Eastern Frontier had become their single goal. It seemed they were even resolved to create salvation with their own hands if there was none waiting for them there.

Roy now carried the heavy burden his father had once borne. It was far too much for a ten-year-old, but he stubbornly refused Ricart’s offer to carry it and bore the load himself.

All Ricart could do was make frequent stops and think about how he should teach Roy to use an axe.

Roy wanted an axe rather than a sword. It was partly to carry on his father’s will, but he also showed surprising talent for it.

An axe was a practical tool familiar to many hands, but using one in battle was by no means easy.

Its striking point was highly limited, and missing could be fatal.

Yet Roy handled the axe remarkably well. His strikes were accurate, but even when he missed, he naturally pulled it back, turned it, and used centrifugal force without the slightest awkwardness.

The destructive power that occasionally burst forth was not something that could be ignored, even from a child.

Another teacher might have discouraged, scolded, or given up teaching a student who chose a weapon other than a sword. But Ricart was not like that.

As with Bori, Ricart was quick to grasp the essence of things even when he did not fully understand them.

In truth, Bori’s early swordsmanship, which looked as though he were writing characters, had been bizarre beyond words. Any ordinary teacher would certainly have forbidden it.

But Ricart had actively encouraged it and helped Bori find his own path. Roy was much the same.

Axe or sword, was the ultimate goal not to fight an enemy and kill them? Just as a sword had strengths and weaknesses, so did an axe.

Still, once someone reached that level, would they become an Axe Master rather than a Sword Master? Had there ever been such a case?

“Once we cross that pass, we’ll be on the road to Adelivari. We can resupply there, and after about a week’s travel, we’ll reach Thorweil. It’s the gateway to the Eastern Frontier. We’ll decide whether to go straight to Thorweil or split the journey after we arrive in Adelivari. We should also get a sense of the situation around us.”

As Ricart lost himself in various thoughts, Bremen pointed to a distant pass.

It looked more like a gorge than a pass, but from where they stood, it was an uphill path regardless.

Beside the road stood a rocky plateau, flat on top and rising sheer into the air. Even the land itself looked different from other parts of the Empire. Fasina had always been like that, though.

They had nearly left the forest when something rustled nearby. They assumed it was a wild animal, but what pushed through the brush was, surprisingly, a green-skinned dwarf.

It stood about as high as an adult’s hips, with sharp teeth, pointed ears, and bright red eyes.

A goblin.

Rather than being frightened, the group was closer to being bewildered. It looked entirely unlike an ordinary animal, a monster in the truest sense, and they stared at it as though wondering what it was.

Kieeek!

The goblin was the one more startled. It let out an unpleasant shriek and hurried into the forest. Perhaps because it was in such a rush, it ran on all fours.

“Did you see that?”

Bori turned to the others and asked. Naturally, anyone with eyes had seen it, but Bori seemed to want to share the surprise.

“Wandering goblins are spotted from time to time. I don’t think there’s much reason to worry.”

Bremen said, as though trying to ease their concern.

But Ricart thought differently. Before it became the Eastern Frontier, when it had been the Eastern Expedition Territory, he had often seen monsters. He understood their habits to some extent.

The barbarians had even tamed trolls and deployed them in battle. But taming them was not a matter of luring them with food or beating them.

They captured young trolls and drove thick iron nails into their bodies, nailed iron masks onto their faces, or cut off their arms and attached chains. Only after something worse than prolonged torture could they finally make a troll obey.

In any case, Ricart did not think encountering a goblin was a trivial matter.

“No. When only one or two appear, we must wipe them out, like ants or cockroaches. Once they form groups and begin settling in one place, we won’t be able to touch them later.”

Individually, goblins were nothing much. It was hard to even call them monsters, since they were less threatening than wolves.

But if they dug into the ground, formed groups, and eventually built kingdoms of their own, then no human effort could eradicate them.

They usually settled in forests, which made the terrain difficult. They also knew how to make and use crude but deadly weapons and poison, making them extremely dangerous.

Once they settled somewhere, that land became unusable to humans.

“But there’s nothing we can do now. With the world in such turmoil, isn’t it natural for such things to gather?”

Bremen said in a self-mocking tone.

It was bitter, but Bremen was right. These days, who would spend their own money and send their own soldiers to exterminate monsters? Everyone was too busy protecting themselves.

“They’ll pay a greater price later.”

Ricart said, then walked on in silence.

After struggling to reach the crest of the pass, they found a magnificent sight spread before them. Mountain ranges ran parallel to one another to the northwest and southwest, with a plain lying between them. It looked like a road made by God.

The plain between the ranges was not especially narrow, and many streams flowing down from the mountains joined into a broad river that surged onward.

Moreover, moisture from the previous day’s rain had not yet dried, and it glittered under the sunlight, filling the world with light. It was a view so beautiful it made the mind reel.

Yet beneath nature’s grandeur lay a bleak reality. Every mountaintop held a bandit stronghold. Even from that distance, they could already see three flags.

In other words, every peak had a different master, and they would have to pay each of them their own so-called toll.

“They were once soldiers under Adelorne’s border lords. I know a few of them, so let’s go to them first.”

Bremen said.

The plain stretching out like a road made by God was the border region of the Kingdom of Adelorne.

Adelorne had been in a state of civil war for years, beginning with a peasant uprising. According to rumors, more than half the kingdom’s population had died.

There were no proper statistics, so no one knew the exact scale of the losses. But given that everyone called it a living hell, it did not seem like an exaggeration.

Including the refugees, one could even wonder whether there were any people left in the kingdom at all.

Mercenaries had gathered from throughout the Empire. There was no meaningful strategy or tactics, no one with the leadership to guide people, and with the Empire standing by, everyone had simply killed, been killed, and plundered until things reached this point.

Now there was hardly anything left to loot. They had dug up even graves and taken every gold tooth and ring.

In any case, the group followed Bremen. Rather than take the easy road, they first followed the ridgeline. The easy road was dangerous, after all.

As they walked along the ridge, they reached a bandit stronghold where a flag with a wolf on a black background fluttered. A makeshift gate blocked the path, guarded by soldiers holding spears.

As the group approached, the soldiers were not especially wary, but silently watched from atop the palisade.

Bremen stepped forward and spoke.

“I served in the Crown Mercenary Corps twenty years ago! I fought in the Battle of Lacona. I’ve come to see old comrades, so open the way!”

At that, one soldier who had been staring down at them from the palisade went elsewhere.

Before long, a wrinkled veteran climbed onto the palisade. After examining the group, the veteran immediately recognized Bremen.

The veteran grinned.

“Hey, Bremen. Go around calling yourself a mercenary here, and it could get you killed. Open the gate.”

At the veteran’s command, the gate opened. The group wondered whether this was really all right, but they entered the bandit stronghold.

Inside, however, was more orderly than expected. For something hastily built by hand, its tactical arrangement was quite impressive.

The soldiers were not strictly disciplined, but their eyes alone set them apart from ordinary bandits.

Bremen and the veteran laughed as they embraced and exchanged a few rough greetings.

“You’re still guiding people?”

“I told you. I don’t know what else to do with my life now.”

“We told you we’d take you in.”

“It would be ridiculous to fight at my age. Wouldn’t I only hold the young soldiers back?”

“There’s hardly any fighting. We just collect tolls and drive away outsiders.”

Still reluctant, Bremen smiled awkwardly and shook his head. The veteran did not press him further.

“By the way, did you come through Fasina?”

“That’s right.”

“Then have you heard the rumor? They say the Rektor Mercenary Corps got thoroughly beaten by three Sword Masters. Is it true? Have you heard anything?”

The Rektor Mercenary Corps was the group the Rubens Clan had hired. Yet, surprisingly, news of the mercenary corps being defeated had spread more widely than news of the Rubens Clan being wiped out.

The destruction of the Rubens Clan remained almost a mystery, but the mercenaries’ defeat had many survivors and was shocking enough to spread.

Common sense said that three people could not fight a mercenary corps. One might think Sword Masters could do it, but a swordsman’s fight and an actual battle were different in nature.

Just as a shark could be powerful in the sea but helpless on land, effectiveness differed depending on the type of conflict, the battlefield, and the environment.

About four years earlier, one of the two Sword Masters dispatched by the Empire had been killed by an arrow. The other had fled without even going into battle.

Everyone knew Sword Masters were extraordinary, but many people were skeptical of whether they were truly useful in real warfare.

In the end, battle was a fight between groups and organizations, and every possible method was used to win.

It was not an honorable duel between swords. Battles relied on walls, bows, crossbows, spears, knights, various weapons and troop types, along with every petty trick imaginable.

Above all, amid the tremendous noise and chaos of a battlefield, it was difficult for one person to make a difference by relying on swordsmanship alone.

Used poorly from a tactical standpoint, even a Sword Master was no more than a capable infantryman.

At the words of an old comrade, Bremen looked at Ricart, Marie, and Bori. The veteran’s gaze naturally turned toward Ricart as well.

No one said anything. Silence lingered for a moment before the veteran snorted.

“Come on. That’s a lie.”

The words carried two meanings. Either it was impossible that just three people had defeated the Rektor Mercenary Corps, or, even if it had truly happened, the people standing before them could not be the very ones responsible.

It would have been nice if they had at least greeted him, but the silence continued.

“Hey, I said don’t lie.”

Ricart, Marie, and Bori had not said a word, yet they continued to be treated as liars.

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