WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 118

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What did those tears mean? Were they tears of joy, sorrow, or resentment?

Could I bear the weight of those tears? Who did I think I was? I was not that admirable a person.

But even so, I could not simply walk past when there was something I could do.

If I could cut people down out of compassion, why could I not protect people out of compassion?

Besides, that was how I had already lived, ever since my days at the Academy. Not sacrificing myself for everyone, but saving others by doing what I could. Like when I had set out to bring down the Ernberg Five in the cold of winter.

Perhaps Roy, his disciple, was not the only one gradually growing from unripe to mature. Ricart was as well.

“Ricky.”

Marie called. When I turned to her, Bori was looking at me too, as were Bremen, Roy and Beka, and the siblings’ mother. Their eyes all held the same feeling.

They respected my judgment. No, they trusted me. Their eyes shone with the resolve to follow me, no matter what happened.

When had that trust begun to grow, and where?

“Hmm...”

Ricart lowered his head and thought for a moment before speaking to Herbert, who was still on their knees.

“Let’s see what we can do. But I’m not such a great person. I don’t know what you expect from me, but hope and salvation must be attained on your own. I’ll only offer a little help.”

With that, he turned and descended the mountain. His friends and companions followed, and the others rose and rushed after them.

Spring flowers were in full bloom along the mountain path, swaying gently in the wind, but Ricart’s heart was not entirely light.

The Kingdom of Adelorne was one enormous basin. The south was mountainous, covered in ranges that were not particularly high, while the north was a plain. Since ancient times, the north had lived by farming, and the south by raising livestock.

By recorded history, the Kingdom of Adelorne was far older than the Empire.

It had been forced into the Empire because of past invasions by orcs and Nords, as well as wars with the Salaman, but its people did not feel much attachment to the Empire.

One reason was their long-standing feud with the Bering Tribe in the northwest. That region was now called Beringen, where Beringen Academy stood.

Of course, tribes had disappeared by now, so it did not mean much, but some resentment still remained.

The people of Adelorne were called Adelorneans. They were hostile toward outsiders, had formed their own culture, and took great pride in it.

Yet they had also fallen behind the times. Perhaps that was the deepest cause of the current situation.

In its glory days, Adelorne had been the first country in the world to establish a knighthood system, and it had been a formidable power. Now, that was all a story of the past.

All that remained were songs, heroic poems of knights from long ago, and hollow ballads.

Who could possibly save this ruined country? Even if all those heroes returned alive, it seemed impossible.

Yet perhaps Ricart could dare to challenge that impossible task precisely because he had no desire to save the country or redeem its people.

He would simply look at what was before him and find what needed doing there. That was all.

Following the river northeast along the kingdom’s northwestern border with Beringen, the mountain ranges on either side eventually broke off, opening onto a vast plain.

Adelivari stood around there. It had grown after a king of Adelorne discovered hot springs there long ago. It was the king’s retreat, a gateway city, and a trading city.

Whether naturally formed or made by human hands, the city stood halfway up a mountain, atop a vertical cliff some four or five meters high.

Its entrance was like a narrow gap between cliffs, as though a giant had hacked at it with an axe. A long stairway ran upward through it, the only route to the main gate.

The problem was the enormous crowd gathered below the mountain. In an age when it was rare for so many people to gather in one place, everyone with Ricart was left speechless.

“This is...”

Bori could not bring themselves to say that this was impossible.

There were more people here than in most large cities. And this was not even their full number.

Ten thousand people could cover one side of a small mountain. Twenty thousand could cover the whole mountain. Once there were thirty thousand, even spread across a field, they stretched beyond sight.

Ten thousand combat troops, with fifty thousand people following them. The numbers alone did not make it real, but seeing them with one’s own eyes left nothing to do but stand overwhelmed.

And they were meant to fight these people? Fighting a typhoon or a thunderstorm seemed more realistic.

But not Ricart. While everyone else remained stunned, he alone calmly surveyed the scene.

Before long, he suddenly called everyone over.

“Everyone, gather around.”

People gathered around Ricart. Bori and Marie looked bewildered, while the soldiers who had guarded the frontier already looked prepared to die.

Showing them a possibility and steadying their hearts was Ricart’s job as well. If he was going to do this, he had to do it properly.

“Get ahold of yourselves. We’re not facing all those people. First, listen to me. Do you see that over there?”

Ricart pointed into the distance.

“No matter how many troops they have, they can’t climb up from the front. They know that too, so they’ve only set up camp around there and lingered about. There are no signs of battle. That means they only have one option. Go around, climb the mountain, and strike the city from above.”

The others studied the battlefield where Ricart pointed. At first, they had no idea what to think, but his explanation gave them something thin to grasp onto.

“Look toward that mountain. Some of them have already gone around and climbed it. See those makeshift structures? How many troops do you think are up there? I’d say fewer than a thousand. Climbing a mountain with no paths and attacking the city is not as easy as it sounds. You guarded the frontier, so you know that better than anyone.”

The soldiers who had joined Ricart had guarded the frontier and had originally lived in the bandit stronghold. Since this was their home, they knew these mountains better than anyone.

“It’s simple. We go farther around, climb the mountain, and clear them out. Marie, Bori, and I will lead the way. They have no defenses at all, so even if they outnumber us, we just have to push through. Bremen and Elia, lead the rest and follow slowly behind us.”

Ricart’s orders were simple. They would take a wider route up the mountain, strike the enemy from behind along the ridge, and drive them off. That was all.

Hearing it explained, it really did not seem like much.

“Since it’s a trading city, holding the mountain pass behind it is the key. If they take that, it’s all over. As long as the supply route stays open, they can hold out as long as they need to. First, we enter the city, join up with the people there, and discuss the next plan.”

Ricart shifted between blunt orders and polite address. He seemed to deliberately use a firmer tone when giving commands.

“Let’s go. Once Marie, Bori, and I tear through them, you just keep formation and push forward.”

Ricart repeated even these simple instructions, then moved out first.

As they took a wide route to climb the mountain, they saw people living in tents everywhere.

There were mercenaries among them, but the crowd was so enormous that even when they saw Ricart and the soldiers, they merely assumed they were some unit or people they did not know.

They never imagined they were enemies, or that anyone would attack them.

It was only natural. Who would dare attack them now? That was their vague assumption. There were so many of them. Who would be crazy enough to attack?

Of course, Ricart was not crazy. Neither were his friends or the soldiers following him.

There was no proper mountain path, so climbing was not easy. The slope was steep enough that they had to grab trees as they went up.

The soldiers climbed as well as mountain animals, being something like mountain troops, but the civilians who had joined them halfway struggled. It only took time because they had to help them.

At the summit, an old side path once used by soldiers or merchants ran along the ridge.

It was difficult to spread the group sideways. In truth, it was less a formation than everyone standing as widely apart as they could.

Some walked along the ridge, while others moved across the slope. It was somewhat dangerous, but they knew the terrain well enough.

Ricart watched the soldiers get ready, then slowly moved forward with Marie and Bori.

Before long, they saw the enemy operating on the mountain. They were cutting down trees and building things, perhaps trying to build a bandit stronghold or throw together catapults. They were also digging away at the ground with pickaxes and shovels.

The enemy was not stupid. They seemed to know this was their only option, but their efforts were dragging.

Invincible Grants's subordinates were something like a loose mercenary alliance, so they resented being sent into the operation.

In any case, they were not standing watch and paid no attention at all to intruders.

So when Ricart approached in his red cape, they merely stared blankly at him.

“Good day.”

Since no one stopped him, Ricart greeted them first instead.

“...Who are you? Never seen you before.”

“I’m Ricky, newly assigned to this operation.”

Naturally, they had never heard the name before, but they simply accepted it.

“No, I keep telling you, we’ve got enough people. When are they sending up the liquor? I’m dying of thirst here. Didn’t anyone pass that along?”

“Hmm, if you’re that thirsty, go down and have a drink yourself.”

“What?”

The mercenary asked in confusion, and Ricart abruptly kicked them in the chest. The mercenary tumbled down the mountainside, crashing into trees as the dull crack of bones breaking carried upward.

As one person fell to their death, the mercenaries nearby stared in shock. Just as they wondered what was happening, Marie and Bori drew their swords.

Purple and black clusters of stars flashed. The nearby mercenaries sprayed blood, died in an instant, and rolled down the slope.

Ricart leisurely drew his own sword and cut through the supports of a hastily built wooden structure.

The structure slowly tipped over, then crashed down the mountain and broke apart. Dust billowed thickly into the air, creating a rather spectacular sight.

From that moment, the tens of thousands below all looked toward Ricart. Those who had not seen it were nudged by others and told to look.

But they still did not know they were being attacked. They thought it was an accident. How unfortunate. They should have been more careful.

Then, after a while, another structure collapsed. There seemed to be screams, and when they looked closely, something appeared to be in disarray.

If they stared hard enough, flashes of something like a red flag appeared now and then. Then a mighty shout rang out from the mountain.

It was the cry of the bandit stronghold soldiers following Ricart.

“The prince has returned! Clear the way!”

“The prince has returned! Clear the way!”

From then on, even from afar, they could see mercenaries tumbling down the mountain in droves. Huh...?

Someone was definitely attacking. Invincible Grants was under attack. It was plain to see. But both Grants and the people took quite some time to accept reality. It could not possibly be true.

Then Ricart, having completely taken the mountain pass, stood there and looked down. He was so far away that he looked as small as an ant, but he held a burning sword. To the people below, it looked as though he carried a torch in broad daylight.

Ricart set fire to the banner of some nameless mercenary company under Grants, then carelessly threw it away. After that, he entered Adelivari by the rear route.

The tens of thousands quietly watched what was happening on the mountain. When Ricart vanished, they broke into noisy murmurs.

They all said the same thing.

“Who did they say had returned?”

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