Ode of the Brave - Chapter 13

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 13

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The walls were not soundproof, so the sounds of a man and woman going at it in the next room came through unfiltered. Their embarrassing moans continued as well.

Yet Ricart and Sandy, listening from their inn room, looked entirely unconcerned.

What had happened that afternoon had left their feelings so hard and heavy that such embarrassing noise could not stir them.

Sandy leaned against the window and looked up at the night sky. Countless stars shone, yet darkness filled the heavens.

At last, the thumping stopped. Silence settled between them for some time.

“What are you?”

Six hours had passed since that incident without either of them saying a word. Finally, Sandy spoke.

“What do you mean?”

“Roch became upper-ranked through his own ability. Maybe you could somehow kill the Biltun brothers in an ambush, but not Roch.”

There had to be a limit to being extraordinary. A ten-year-old overpowering an adventurer who had trained Mana Drive and ranked highly in Academy competitions was far too much.

Ricart thought for a moment before answering.

“Every movement has a single point where force gathers. It changes from moment to moment, but if you turn it in the right direction at the right time, they end up hurting themselves. Like pointing a spear at the crown of a charging boar’s head. I don’t need to thrust it myself. I didn’t break the sword. That guy Roch did.”

It was not an exact comparison, but it was similar to a counter in unarmed combat. He applied that principle to weapons.

“That’s what I’m asking. It sounds easy when you say it, but how do you do that?”

“You get better as you keep doing it. Eventually, you can do it as naturally as breathing. On a battlefield, you don’t have time to swing your weapon several times. You have to kill one person with each strike. Otherwise, some stray spear or blade might kill me.”

Every martial art was born and developed for a purpose. Swordsmanship for the battlefield had no choice but to be simple and lethal. Not merely to kill more people, but because that was how one survived.

Sandy turned and stared at Ricart. He looked exactly like a cute young nobleman.

Surely he had not gone to war at that age. And even if he had, he could not have had much battlefield experience.

“You said you came from a knightly family, right? Did your father teach you? Since you were little?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Ricart gave a vague answer. Sandy fell into thought for a while before speaking again.

“I’ve seen plenty of talented kids. And I’ve occasionally seen monstrous geniuses who made those talented kids look ordinary. But I’ve never seen anyone like you, Ricky.”

“That’s a compliment, right?”

“A compliment? Hmm. Let’s call it one. But it was a little... scary.”

“What about now?”

For a while, Sandy only looked at Ricart. Her face suggested she was considering everything she had seen of him that day.

For some reason, Ricart’s words, What do you want me to do about it?, had been echoing in her ears all day. The voice, the tone, and the sincerity behind them.

Sandy raised an eyebrow playfully and smiled.

“You’re less of a child than I thought?”

“Ha ha ha...”

Ricart simply laughed as well. At last, the mood seemed to ease somewhat.

It was late at night, and the two fell asleep in the same bed, wearing only their underwear. It was Ricart’s first time sleeping beside a woman other than his mother.

He had not exactly lied to Sandy, but there were things he had not said. He pitied her. And he was glad she had companions like siblings.

He knew that half-hearted pity was the worst insult, so he buried what needed to remain buried.

Tomorrow, they would finally reach the Academy. The journey that had lasted four days since he left home was nearly over.

Where there were meetings, there were partings. In Sandy’s arms, Ricart thought of all the people who had passed through his life.

Arno, Daisy, Kauffman, Sandy’s companions, his family, and those who had fallen on earlier battlefields, one by one...

The night grew deeper.

Beringen, the main city of the Beringen territory, was a military fortress city. It was, after all, a territory responsible for defending the borderlands.

To the east lay a low mountain range, and beyond it was a forest inhabited by monsters that did not permit human passage. Goblins, orcs, undead, man-eating spiders, werewolves, trolls, and more...

Humans could deal with a single creature, but once they gathered in groups, they became impossible to handle with human strength alone.

So the wise choice was simply to draw the boundary and not cross to the other side.

There were occasional historical records of orcs invading in great numbers, but humans had never stopped them even once.

The records only said that the orcs devastated the region as they pleased and ate their fill, then withdrew on their own after splitting into factions.

In other words, when monsters launched a large-scale invasion, people regarded it as a natural disaster, like an earthquake, tidal wave, or typhoon. All they could do was hope it passed quickly.

Far to the north was the sea, where Nords who arrived by ship appeared.

They were merchants and raiders. When times were good, they only traded, but when things went badly, they did not hesitate to wage war.

Beringen existed to stop outside invasions. Otherwise, it would become prey itself.

Its role, and its inescapable fate, was to prevent outside invaders from reaching the heart of the Empire.

Beringen Fortress stood on slightly elevated ground. The hill had been carved flat, and the fortress rose above the surrounding land.

Strong walls encircled the entire hill. About two hundred people lived within them, though the margrave did not reside there. Instead, a steward sent to manage the territory stayed in the fortress.

More people lived below the hill. Like the spreading mark left by a raindrop striking the ground, around ten thousand people lived spread out around it.

They farmed, hunted, grazed livestock, and worked in trade and industry. They lived without relying on the fortress walls.

Beringen Academy, however, was neither above nor below the hill.

Half a day’s journey from the city, atop a sheer rocky mountain, stood another small fortress like an outpost. That was Beringen Academy. An old fortress had simply been repurposed as the Academy building.

After climbing the narrow stairs along the cliff face, one could see an inscription carved into the gate, heavy and chilling in its presence.

A boy stood before it, staring up in blank dismay. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead from the climb.

“What? Who are you?”

The sudden, provocative question snapped the boy back to his senses.

A boy slightly older than him, perhaps sixteen to eighteen years old, stood crookedly before him with a sword at his waist.

“Ah... I-I’m Boribori. I came from Duchen. Mr. Hartmann referred me, and they said they’d feed me and give me a place to sleep...”

“Bori, what? What did you say your name was?”

“Boribori.”

“Are you messing with me?”

“No, Boribori really is my name...”

The student with the sword frowned deeply at Boribori.

Boribori had a yellow-brown bowl cut, slightly sad-looking eyes, a cute little nose, and a somewhat large mouth. His age was hard to tell, but he looked about ten to twelve years old, and his height matched.

The problem was that Boribori was dressed like a beggar.

“Wash up first. You’re fucking filthy.”

“S-Sorry.”

“Hey.”

“Yes?”

“There’s no such word as sorry here. Got it?”

“What?”

“Ask me to repeat myself one more time, and I’ll beat you half to death.”

“S-Sorry...”

“This little bastard!”

Thud!

The sword-bearing student suddenly kicked Boribori in the stomach. Boribori doubled over and fell to his knees, unable to breathe properly.

“You little bastard, what the hell do you think people are saying? Don’t make me repeat myself if you want to live. Filthy little bastard.”

Then he grabbed Boribori by the hair and dragged him to the well in the courtyard. A few students passed by and looked over, but they only snickered, while most did not seem to care.

The student with the sword drew up a bucket of water and dumped it over Boribori without warning.

Splash!

After being hit hard and soaked in freezing water, Boribori shivered helplessly.

“Take off your clothes.”

“...”

Boribori almost answered, “What?” by reflex, but quickly shut his mouth and did as he was told. He stripped in the open, in broad daylight.

There was every reason to feel humiliated, but he had been born an illegitimate child and had endured oppression and bullying all his life. This much was simply bearable.

The sword-bearing student dumped several more buckets of water over him, then pointed at a building with his thumb.

“Throw those clothes away. Wash yourself however you want, then go in there.”

Then he simply left.

Cold, his stomach still throbbing, Boribori stood naked and trembling as though he were a prisoner of war.

Still shaking uncontrollably, he drew up bucket after bucket and washed himself.

Some students watching from afar snickered, and there were girls among them.

Boribori scrubbed until no more grime came off, covered his private parts with one hand, and went to the place the sword-bearing student had indicated.

When he carefully opened the door and stepped inside, he saw a narrow passage, with sixty bunk beds stretching far into the distance on either side.

“Who are you?”

Another unfriendly question came flying at him. These people seemed to show hostility before interest toward anyone they had never met.

“I-I’m Boribori. I just got here...”

“So what?”

“What? No, sorry, I mean...”

Unable to ask again or say sorry, Boribori had nothing he could say.

“Stop displaying that ugly fucking body of yours and crawl somewhere out of sight.”

“They say his name’s Boribori. What kind of name is that? Heh heh heh.”

“Hey, if you’re going to die, die somewhere far away. If we have to clean up your corpse, I’ll kill you for real.”

Comments came from every direction. There was not one kind word, only contempt and disgust.

But he had been told to crawl into a corner, and the beds were packed together so tightly that there was nowhere to go.

Without even drying off, Boribori wandered around naked before cautiously settling on what appeared to be an empty bed. The students nearby snickered.

A little later, several students entered through the door at the far end of the room. One of them came toward Boribori.

Molty was larger than most adults and looked as though they were in their forties.

“Hey.”

“...Yes?”

“Want to die?”

Boribori stared up blankly, feeling the terror of death. The snickering around him grew louder.

The large student glared at the ones laughing.

“You fucking bitches. You’re worse for standing there and doing nothing. You really want to die?”

“S-Sorry, Molty. Hey, come over here.”

A student some distance away called Boribori over. Boribori quickly got up and went to them.

“This bed is empty. Clean it up a little and stay here.”

For an empty bed, it was not clean. It was cluttered with all sorts of trash.

“Th-Thanks.”

“There’s no such thing as thanks here. And no sorry, either. When you walk through the passage, always step aside first.”

“Okay.”

“Rank comes first here. It’s not always true, but the students in the top bunks are generally higher ranked. The farther inward you go, the stronger they are. If you want a place you like, or if you don’t want to step aside in the passage, you have to fight and win.”

“...”

“Use this to dry yourself off. Wear these clothes. They belonged to the kid who used this bed before you.”

They were not new clothes. They were not even washed. But Boribori was in no position to be picky.

Boribori swallowed the words of thanks rising to his throat and quietly pulled himself together.

“But, um... where did the kid who used this bed go?”

“They died.”

“What?”

“I said they died. Here, everyone has to earn money and live on their own. They must have gotten caught up in a knife fight while working in the city.”

“...”

“You don’t need to worry too much. There are safe jobs, too. That kid took a risk because they needed money.”

There was nothing Boribori could say. The thought that he had come to the wrong place kept rising in his mind. But where could he go if he left? His household had treated him like a burden, and it was no less cruel there.

The other children had nowhere to go, either. Some left now and then, but more children than expected never left this place.

Because here, they could feel the faint sense of belonging their households had never given them.

Boribori was the same. He had been born the child of a maid and had grown up watching the legitimate children torment his mother. Those children had even forced Boribori to take part in it.

Mother, I’m sorry. I can’t live like this anymore.

That was what Boribori had said when he left.

There was no child here without a miserable story. Some had suffered more than Boribori, but none had suffered less.

That night, Boribori was forced under a blanket and beaten soundly. The children shouted.

“Welcome to the Chicken Coop, newcomer!”

He was beaten until he passed out. When he opened his eyes, it was morning. Aside from a few students resting inside, most had gone to class or into the city.

Their ages ranged from twelve to sixteen, and differences in development made their sizes vary greatly.

Boribori slowly adapted by watching the others. He looked around the dormitory and made a few acquaintances he could at least exchange words with, though they were not close.

Before he knew it, a month had passed. During that time, he had seen several newcomers get tormented just as he had.

Then one day, a newcomer arrived wearing a red cloak. He had blond hair and hazel eyes. Unlike Boribori when he first arrived, the newcomer was not dressed in rags, but fairly neatly.

“Hey, who are you?”

A student standing near the newcomer asked provocatively. Boribori only watched from a short distance away.

“Ricky.”

The newcomer was none other than Ricart.

“You? That’s a pretty grand name.”

“What’s your name?”

“What?”

“I asked what your name is.”

“What do you need to know that for? Want to die?”

“If you don’t mean it, you should watch what you say.”

“W-What did you say?”

“So where’s my bed? It’s my first time here.”

Boribori’s eyes widened. He had not been there long, but he had never seen a newcomer so bold. Every other newcomer had shrunk back and been beaten.

It seemed Boribori was not the only one who noticed. Many eyes naturally turned toward the entrance.

“What the hell are you? You really want to die?”

“Sorry, but I’m not scared at all. It doesn’t suit you, either.”

“W-What?”

The child picking a fight could only blink in disbelief.

“It’s been a while since someone interesting came in.”

Someone spoke. Then, as if determined to teach the newcomer some manners, several students climbed out of their beds and approached. One of them crept up from behind with a blanket.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“This won’t do. You need a beating.”

At the same time, the student who had approached from behind threw the blanket over him. As the others rushed in to stomp on him, a flash burst before the eyes of the child standing across from Ricart.

Whack!

Then came the sounds of scuffling and a series of heavy impacts.

Smack! Thud! Wham! Whack!

Boribori’s eyes grew as wide as lanterns. He could not understand what had happened even as he watched. The result was simply that Ricart stood alone while everyone else lay sprawled around him, groaning.

“Ugh...”

“Ah... fuck...”

Ricart smashed the child gripping his hair into the leg of a nearby bed.

Crack!

The child slid down, blood streaming from their nose. At some point, the blanket had ended up in Ricart’s hands. He looked back and forth between it and the fallen students.

Then he said something unbelievable.

“Ah, was that an initiation? Sorry. Want to do it again?”

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