WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ Ode of the Brave ◈
Chapter 117
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The bandit stronghold consisted of little more than a palisade, watchtowers, a storehouse, and a small lodging for veteran soldiers. Ordinary soldiers lived in hut-like shelters inside the stronghold, like wandering beggars.
Their homes might have been poor, but the soldiers themselves did not look too shabby. A stream ran nearby, giving them plenty of drinking water, and they washed often.
A proper army was more sanitary than one might think, in order to prevent disease from spreading.
In any case, Ricart's group was served a meal while sitting on the ground. Since they were not inside a building, more than ten soldiers gathered around them and stared.
It felt as though they were on display.
“I don't know the mountain's name, but if you cross that pass and follow the edge of the forest, there's a rocky mountain. That's where we fought. Though really, it wasn't a fight between them and us. It was a fight with the Rubens Clan, and the Rektor Mercenary Corps had been hired by them.”
Bremen spoke while drinking lukewarm ale. Despite being lukewarm, it was surprisingly refreshing. Adelorne had long been famous for its clear water, so perhaps that was why.
In any case, everyone listened intently, apparently finding it astonishing that they had defeated the Rektor Mercenary Corps.
“Then it wasn't just the three of you who fought?”
“These three did nearly everything. I never swung my sword even once, and this child's father gave his life.”
Bremen said gently, placing an arm around Roy's shoulders.
Perhaps because death was so commonplace, neither Bremen's old friend nor the soldiers showed any particular grief.
“The Rektor Mercenary Corps must have had considerable numbers... And decent equipment too...”
“So we took position in the mountains and fought. The route up was narrow and rough. This friend made every decision and gave every order. That young married woman protected us, and that friend held the pass.”
Bremen said, pointing to Ricart, Marie, and Bori in turn. The three still said nothing.
“You made that call? You? You're just like Prince Caldebert.”
“Pardon?”
Ricart was slightly startled to suddenly hear the name of an old friend. Bori frowned and tilted their head, as if the name sounded familiar.
Whether Ricart was startled or not, Bremen's old friend, Herbert, watched Ricart closely. It was almost a glare.
Herbert was not picking a fight. Rather, Herbert seemed to be carefully studying Ricart's features.
If Herbert had been challenging him, Ricart would have stared back. But that was not it, and that gaze made him deeply uncomfortable.
Do I look like someone?
“Oh, have you heard of the Black Sword? He's fairly famous among swordsmen. That friend there is Bori, the Black Sword.”
“I've heard of him.”
“Me too.”
At Bremen's words, a few of the soldiers gathered around them spoke up. But that was all. What interested them was the battle, its outcome, and Ricart. He had no idea why.
The soldiers might have been illiterate fools, but they also had extensive battle experience. They could tell simply by listening whether Bremen was exaggerating.
It was like when someone who had never served in the military talked about military life. It showed.
“So where are you headed after defeating the Rektor Mercenary Corps? Adelivari?”
When Herbert asked, Bremen nodded.
“We'll resupply there, then head toward Thorweil.”
“But Adelivari is under siege right now.”
“...What siege?”
“It is practically the only place left to plunder.”
Nearly the entire Kingdom of Adelorne had been looted, leaving almost no proper cities.
Adelivari was near the border and had somehow endured until now, but there had been so little left to loot that it seemed they had gone there for the last remaining piece of meat worth eating.
“Who? Who's laying siege to it?”
“'Invincible' Grants.”
What kind of nickname was Invincible? It sounded excessively grand. Was it boasting, or was Grants truly that formidable?
“Who is that?”
Ricart spoke for the first time. The eyes already watching him seemed to focus on him even more.
What is with these people?
Herbert, Bremen's old comrade, answered.
“Grants leads the largest faction among the warlords currently holding the kingdom in their grip. They say Grants is from Lorencia, though I don't know where that is. Grants was originally a member of the Second Sons Mercenary Company. During the war, Grants turned on their superior, killed the commander, and took over the company. The Rektor Mercenary Corps is one of the mercenary companies under Grants's command. The ones you and your friends supposedly taught a lesson.”
“The Second Sons Mercenary Company?”
Perhaps because Ricart had opened the conversation, Bori asked next. The name seemed unusual.
“It was originally a mercenary company made up entirely of nobles. It was quite famous. Four years ago, when a peasant uprising broke out in the east and signs of civil war appeared, the king hired them. Then, amid the chaos, a prince killed the king. The Second Sons Mercenary Company killed the prince, and then Grants killed their commander. Things started becoming a complete mess from there, and now we're here.”
“So what does this Grants intend to do? If Grants wanted the throne, they should have taken it long ago.”
“Grants claims the title of king, but Grants was the one who destroyed Adelune. Who would serve Grants as king? I don't know the details. But the lords would never follow Grants. So it seems Grants decided to destroy the entire kingdom instead. And it isn't even a mercenary company made up only of nobles anymore. They accepted anyone and everyone. Now they have ten thousand troops, with a rabble of fifty thousand following them. Perhaps even Grants can't control them anymore.”
Having many troops was not automatically a good thing. It was only good when their numbers remained manageable.
For example, he supposedly had the Rektor Mercenary Corps under his command, yet what had that corps been doing in Fasina?
They could not have been managed properly in the first place. That was why subordinates wandered around doing whatever they pleased. The Rubens Clan was an outside force of sorts, and it made no sense for them to enter into an employment contract with them.
The trouble with such groups was that they moved in a great mass, looting and destroying everything in their path. Like the Demon Lord and his army from legend.
For the people who had lived in the Kingdom of Adelorne, this was no different from the end of the world.
They were no longer a mercenary company, and certainly not a regular army. They did not even have a fixed territory of influence that would make them warlords. They were closer to a gang of bandits.
Why did they do such things? Because it was how they survived.
A proper army divided combat units and supply units clearly, and the whole system had to function smoothly. Since that was no longer possible, things could only go this way.
Who would pay their wages? Who would provide their meals? They survived by raiding villages and cities.
Above all, there was no turning back now. Once people grew accustomed to living that way, they could do nothing else. They also grew more cruel with time.
“Then what are all of you doing here?”
Ricart asked. He was not rebuking them. He was simply curious.
“Us? We're just... doing what we've always done. Guarding this peak. And while we're at it, collecting a little toll from travelers.”
They were not quite bandits, but neither were they regular soldiers. That was because they had no commander. The border lords had all died during the civil war.
“So... what do we do now? Is there anywhere we can return to?”
Bremen asked. Bremen's old friend Herbert shook their head. Even if there were a route home, every village and city along the way had been reduced to ruin.
In circumstances like these, bands of thieves were not as frightening as starving commoners. There were even grim rumors of people eating one another.
“Couldn't we just blend in quietly? It doesn't seem like they have much control anyway.”
With sixty thousand people gathered together, it would certainly be impossible to inspect and control every one of them. If they slipped in unnoticed, who would know?
The problem was that there was no certainty. If things went wrong, they could be crushed beneath the sheer weight of sixty thousand people.
“We can't turn back after coming this far, and we can't just sit around wasting time...”
Bremen did not like it, but Bremen had no other option. They had overcome many hardships, only to find an even greater mountain blocking their way.
For the first time in a while, the group pitched tents and spent the night at the bandit stronghold. They had eaten all their potatoes and vegetables because of the previous day's rain, leaving them with little food.
If they wanted supplies, they would have to mingle with the sixty thousand people instead of going to Adelivari and buy food there.
That night, however, Herbert and the soldiers kept looking toward Ricart and whispering among themselves.
If they were plotting something bad, they would have done it in secret. Yet they were being so obvious that Ricart could not guess what they wanted. It bothered him enough that he could not sleep properly.
The next morning, as the group packed up to leave, Herbert and the soldiers gathered their weapons and baggage and followed them.
“Why are you following us?”
Bremen asked in disbelief.
“Just as you and your group are headed for the Eastern Frontier in search of your last hope, we have decided to go to Adelivari for one last battle.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like you, I do not have many days left. But what about the soldiers? If we keep guarding this peak without purpose, what are we guarding it from? The kingdom has already been destroyed.”
It was true. What meaning was there in guarding the border of a fallen country? Ricart looked over the soldiers. Their expressions were not resolute. They simply looked mentally exhausted.
Before they quietly faded away, they seemed to want to fight one proper battle one last time. But for that, they needed a proper commander.
Ricart had an ominous feeling. No, ominous was not quite right. It was more like unease. He did not know why, but something felt uncomfortable.
Still, they merely happened to be traveling the same route. It was not as though they were following Ricart, so he could not say anything.
Yet as they passed other bandit strongholds along the ridgeline, the soldiers there heard that three people had destroyed the Rektor Mercenary Corps and began joining them as well.
Each stronghold had anywhere from ten to twenty people. By the time they had passed five strongholds, nearly seventy people were following Ricart's group.
Like a marching force, soldiers with long spears resting on their shoulders walked in a long line along the ridge.
“This doesn't seem right...”
“Doesn't this ruin our plan to blend in quietly?”
Bori and Marie voiced their concerns. With this many armed people, there was no way they could pass unnoticed.
Ricart also felt that something about this was wrong, but he could not tell them what to do with their own resolve.
There were seven bandit strongholds in all, and by the end, about a hundred people had joined them. There had once been more, but this was all that remained.
After noon, the ridgeline path ended, and a mountain trail leading downward appeared. It curled around the whole mountain like a snake, and as they continued down, they saw what looked like a village.
But it was not actually a village. These were people led by, or following, the person called Invincible Grants.
Fifty thousand people could not gather in one place, so they were spread over a wide area. This was one such group. They mostly traveled with people from the same region or village, or with relatives.
Naturally, they were neither soldiers nor mercenaries. They were simply people who had lost their homes and followed along in a desperate effort to survive.
For instance, they too had once been citizens of Adelorne. But after being looted, they had no choice but to follow Grants to survive.
Then they took part in the looting themselves, died, or barely survived. That was reality.
Most of the fifty thousand people who were not combat troops were like that, like a swarm of locusts.
The people Ricart now encountered were no different. There were hardly any young men. Most were women, elderly people, and children.
The children knew nothing and ran about brightly, picking up and eating whatever they found.
When they saw Ricart's group and the soldiers following behind them, they blinked.
Their lives were already ruined. They did not even seem afraid of what might be done to them.
They had lost husbands, sons, and fathers. All of them had. That was why the soldiers had shown no reaction when they heard Roy's story. In a world where tragedy was ordinary, even tragedy ceased to be tragedy.
It seemed all they had left were songs. Folk songs passed from grandmothers to mothers, and from mothers to their sons and daughters.
“When apple blossoms bloom, I look up toward the mountain pass. When the lake holds the sun, I walk along its shore. My heart has gone beyond that pass. When stars glitter on the lake, the prince will come. When the prince comes, this misery will end.”
The melody was mournful, but the children sang it brightly in their innocent voices. Some soldiers hummed along with them.
It seemed to say that they and Ricart's group were not enemies. That they were people of the same country, the same people, even if things had become like this.
That did not mean anything could be done immediately. Ricart passed them and continued down the mountain path.
“What sort of country girl waits for a prince? Is she some mistress he hid away?”
“That's just how stories are.”
Bori sounded as though he were nitpicking, and Marie scolded him as though telling him to get the point.
“It's Caldebert.”
Herbert, who had silently followed behind them, spoke.
Ricart, Marie, and Bori turned to Herbert.
“The prince in the song. The heroic knight, Caldebert the Breaker. It is a song saying that when he returns, he will end the war. Adelorne has suffered from fierce civil wars since long ago.”
Hearing the name of that old friend once again, Ricart froze for a moment. The ominous feeling? The unease? It seemed to swell within him.
Then Bori's eyes widened, and he spoke loudly.
“Ah! I remember now! Ricky, wasn't that your family's founder?”
“...More like our later progenitor.”
“Anyway, they say he was Adelorne's fourth prince.”
Ricart's Calderbern family had been founded in Caldebert's name.
Caldebert had originally been Adelorne's fourth prince. After distinguishing himself in Fernland, he had received land from the Emperor and earned the right to establish a new family.
In terms of lineage, the Adelorne royal family was the main house, while the Calderberns were a branch line.
That was true if one traced the bloodline, but it was absurd to claim royal authority now.
But if things were like this...
“What do you mean?”
Herbert, who had been following behind them, stepped closer and asked. Their expression was serious. No, was it desperate?
“He's actually a noble. From the Calderbern family. He's a descendant of Caldebert the Breaker.”
Bori pointed at Ricart as though it were nothing, but Marie frowned and stopped him.
“Hey, don't say that carelessly. We can talk casually among ourselves, but in front of other people...”
Then Herbert suddenly grabbed Ricart by the shoulder. Herbert stared at Ricart as though inspecting every detail of Ricart's face: his eyes, nose, mouth, jawline, hair, and even the wrinkles.
Ricart wondered what was wrong with Herbert, while the uneasy feeling began to take on a clearer shape.
“A-Are you really a prince?”
“No, I'm from the countryside. I'm not a prince. Marie, she's a princess, no, an imperial princess.”
“Why are you bringing me into this?”
Marie stared wide-eyed in disbelief, but Herbert suddenly fell to their knees. Ricart, Marie, and Bori stared at Herbert in surprise.
“Sob. Sob...”
Herbert sobbed, then finally began to cry. The three were too dumbfounded to speak.
“What's wrong with you?”
Even Bremen stared wide-eyed as Bremen asked Herbert.
“...This is fate.”
“What is?”
“The war ending!”
Herbert had seemed indifferent, but that had only been a shell. When it broke, the bitterness that had built up inside them burst forth.
The soldiers behind them murmured, asking what was happening, while the people in the village peered over.
“The prince has returned!”
Herbert shouted. Everyone looked bewildered. But then the women in the village suddenly burst into tears and fell to their knees.
The sound of their sobbing filled the air, and there was no sound more sorrowful than women crying together.
As the mood suddenly shifted, one soldier after another removed their helmets and knelt. They looked up at Ricart with wide eyes, as though trying to carve his image into their memories.
Was this the faint unease he had felt since yesterday, without even realizing it? Ricart was speechless.
Yet sometimes heroes made an age, and sometimes an age needed a hero.
Right now, these people needed something to believe in and follow. Whether by chance or fate, Ricart had been chosen.
Was it a duty placed upon him by blood, or simply destiny? Would he turn away, or would he offer them their last hope? Hope like a torch that could light their dark times.
What he chose was entirely up to Ricart.
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