WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ Ode of the Brave ◈
Chapter 14
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It had taken over a month to reach Fernland, and it was a hell all its own. The soldiers inside that hell were slumped listlessly, defeated and despairing.
When Ricky was assigned to a unit and entered the camp tent, he smelled something impossible to describe. Fire, steel, blood, and death, all mixed together.
That night, Ricky was forcibly covered with a blanket and beaten. He barely held onto consciousness until it ended, and then a senior soldier said with a smile,
“To survive in hell, you have to become a demon. Welcome, rookie.”
At first, Ricky did not go into battle. He just ran himself ragged doing whatever errands the senior soldiers ordered.
If he hesitated over an unfamiliar term he had never heard before, a fist would always come flying at him. The explanation came afterward.
He emptied the latrine buckets, maintained weapons, and had to bring whatever daily necessities they needed, even if he had to steal them.
After he fought in his first battle and managed to do his share, the errands became less frequent. The insults and beatings slowly faded as well.
Then, once he had gained some experience, he took part in a battle with heavy casualties.
He did not even know whether they had won or lost. Buried in mud like a tidal flat, Ricky pulled out a dying senior soldier and carried him on his back. That soldier had beaten Ricky more than anyone else.
With every step, his legs sank thigh-deep into the mud. He gritted his teeth and walked all day to reach the garrison.
The wounded soldier even soiled himself while riding on Ricky’s back. The stench was strong enough to cut through the thick smell of blood.
When Ricky finally saved him, the soldier said,
“I won’t thank you.”
Afterward, the senior soldier recovered and fought in several more battles. Then, in one battle, he threw himself forward to save Ricky and was instead pierced by a spear.
As he died, he smiled and said,
“Don’t thank me. I can rest now. You keep working your fucking ass off.”
“......”
That day, Ricky learned how trust was built. He also learned that trust had to be shown through actions, not words.
The soldiers’ coarse banter, their lewd jokes, and their somewhat violent traditions were nothing more than fever medicine for those living on the battlefield. They were not their true selves.
That was why Ricart tried to see the intent behind someone’s words rather than taking the words themselves at face value.
That was also why, when he first entered the Beringen Academy dormitory, he had not gotten angry or reacted much despite the provocations pouring from the other children.
He had lived among rough soldiers and fought while facing the crazed hostility of barbarians. No matter how harshly these children tried to provoke him, it was difficult for them to stir much feeling in Ricart.
Then Ricart suddenly noticed the blanket in his hand.
Oh. It was an initiation. If that was all it was, he should have just taken the beating.
“Ah, was that an initiation? Sorry. Want to do it again?”
Unfortunately, it was already too late. Four children were sprawled around him, groaning. Silence filled the room.
Then someone spoke to Ricart from somewhere in an upper bunk. He could not see them.
“Hey, are you good at fighting?”
“Well, how good are you?”
Someone snorted with laughter. Then the speaker leaped down from the top bunk and revealed himself.
He was a student with short golden hair, and his face looked so old that he seemed like he might have lied about his age. Yet his skin was clear enough that perhaps he really was as young as he looked. Ricart could not tell how old he was.
More importantly, he was at least a head taller than Ricart. He was shirtless, and his muscles were well-defined.
“Bare fists or knives?”
“Whatever you prefer.”
“Good. This is interesting. Pankration!”
His opponent suddenly shouted. Not just shouted, either. He shouted at the top of his lungs. The more timid children flinched, and even Ricart was startled.
What was wrong with him?
But as if answering that shout, the other children began to yell as well. Dozens of children shouted together with such force that the entire dormitory seemed to tremble.
“Pankration! Pankration! Pankration!”
Was it some kind of chant?
Ricart stood there in confusion while his opponent turned and walked toward the door on the other side. It seemed to mean that he wanted to fight, so Ricart followed him.
Beyond the opposite door was the dormitory’s backyard, which looked like a training ground.
The sand was dotted with old and fresh bloodstains. Along the edges were wooden parallel bars, pull-up frames, climbing frames, and training dummies.
Some children were sparring, exercising, or making out with girls. When the children came pouring out of the dormitory, they stopped what they were doing and looked over.
In one corner of the training ground was a circular sand ring. The one who had led Ricart outside walked barefoot into it.
The children naturally formed a circle around it. Ricart took off his cloak and shoes, then entered the sand ring as well.
Some watched with their arms folded and bored expressions. Some had bright eyes because the situation itself excited them. Others were frightened by the terrible thing that was about to happen.
Ricart’s opponent smiled confidently, as though enjoying all those eyes on him. He especially enjoyed the attention from the girls.
“Either surrender or die. Those are the only ways this fight ends. Everything is allowed except biting and groin kicks. That is Pankration.”
“Really? Then have you made peace with dying?”
“What? Hahaha, interesting. Very interesting. Hey, somebody wrap this kid’s hands.”
At once, Boribori darted out from the crowd, took Ricart’s hands, and wrapped them in bandages.
The bandages were meant to protect fists, not to keep the opponent from getting hurt.
Volka’s girlfriend wrapped his hands, while Boribori wrapped Ricart’s. Seeing that Ricart had no calluses at all on his hands, Boribori thought the outcome had already been decided.
“Once he hits you, just act like it hurts and fall down. Volka won’t kill you, but you could still get seriously hurt.”
Boribori spoke quietly. So Ricart’s opponent was apparently named Volka.
“Still, you don’t look very prepared for it.”
“......Huh?”
Boribori looked confused, unable to understand what Ricart meant.
“How long are you going to keep wrapping those? Do you want to watch us fuck?”
“Hahahahaha!”
When Volka spoke, laughter burst out around them. His girlfriend pretended to dislike it, but the pleasure showed clearly on her face.
“That’s enough. Go on.”
Ricart spoke to Boribori. Thinking that something was strange, Boribori stepped outside the sand ring.
Volka lightly bounced in place, then walked around Ricart as though he were taking a stroll. He gradually closed the distance, stepped forward with his front foot, and threw a punch.
Thwack!
No, he tried to throw a punch.
A flash burst before Volka’s eyes. His head snapped backward, and his fist cut through the air in a strange arc. One knee struck the ground.
Silence fell over the crowd as though someone had thrown cold water over them.
Volka barely held onto consciousness. He staggered wildly, trying somehow to regain his stance. But another flash burst before his eyes, and then he blacked out.
Ricart had struck him in the head with a high kick. To everyone watching, the sight of him kicking the head of an opponent taller than himself was like a perfect picture.
If silence could be weighed, it felt as though a heavy boulder had been placed over them. It was difficult to even breathe carelessly.
The smiles slowly vanished from the students’ faces, leaving them all staring with their mouths hanging open. Even the children who had been watching with folded arms unconsciously let their arms drop.
Around three or four seconds passed. Volka regained consciousness. At first, he looked confused, then he barely moved his stiff limbs and tried to stand. He did not even realize that blood was running from his nose and mouth.
“I could’ve killed you twenty more times. Aren’t you going to surrender?”
Ricart stood still and looked at Volka. Only then did Volka realize he had passed out.
Then he noticed the shocked gazes fixed on him, and shame rose inside him. Among those gazes was his girlfriend’s.
“......Fuck you......!”
Volka burned with fighting spirit and swung his fist wide.
No, before he could swing it, another flash burst before his eyes.
Thwack!
His fist sliced uselessly through the air, and Volka dropped to both knees.
Unlike before, he did not pass out. He stubbornly held onto consciousness and stretched his arms forward, trying to turn it into wrestling. But there was no strength in them, and he could only flail helplessly.
Ricart’s knee drove straight into Volka’s jaw, and he passed out again.
Crunch!
Thud.
This time, around five seconds passed before Volka opened his eyes, facedown in the sand. It was not that his body would not listen to him. He simply had no strength left.
He barely turned his head and looked up. Ricart was staring down at him.
“You said it yourself. It doesn’t end unless someone surrenders or dies.”
Blood poured from Volka’s broken nose and split lips. With half-lidded eyes, he barely forced out the words between ragged breaths.
“......F-fuck... off.”
“Really? Then I lost. Is that enough?”
Ricart unwrapped his bandages, tossed them onto Volka, and left.
He received his cloak from one of the watching children, picked up his shoes, and walked away without looking back.
An even heavier silence settled over the training ground. The children could not quite gather themselves enough to understand what they had just witnessed.
Volka remained facedown in the sand ring for a long time, unable to rise. His shoulders shook as though he might have been crying.
The bandages Ricart had worn lay messily over Volka’s head. Even if Ricart had not meant it that way, they looked like mockery for the defeated.
Ricart did not know which bed he was supposed to use, so he simply stood there and looked around. Children who entered later saw him and stopped where they were.
None of them could approach Ricart or tell him to move. The passage was clogged with children like a traffic jam.
Then Ricart spotted the child who had wrapped his hands among the crowd. It was Boribori.
“Oh, you. You know me, right? You wrapped my hands earlier.”
“......Me? Me?”
“Yes, you. Where’s your spot?”
“Me? Me?”
“Are you imitating an animal that goes ‘me, me’?”
“Me? Me?”
“......”
Ricart had tried to ask as gently as possible, with a hint of laughter in his voice. But by this point, he wondered whether Boribori was making fun of him, and his expression turned cold.
The children around Boribori grabbed him and practically shoved him forward.
Ricart and Boribori stood face-to-face. Boribori only rolled his eyes around and could not even look at Ricart.
“If you have a disability, nod. I’ll understand.”
“......”
Boribori remained still.
“Then if you were trying to make fun of me, stop it. Can you do that?”
“Y-Yes. No, I wasn’t trying to make fun of you......”
“Where’s your spot?”
Boribori raised a hand and pointed. It was near the far end of the lower bunks.
“Is there room next to you?”
Boribori looked behind him. The student by that spot shook their head rapidly.
“......No.”
“Really? Then we’ll stay together. Are you hurt anywhere?”
“N-No. I’m fine.”
“It’s my first time here, so there’s a lot I don’t know. Help me out.”
“Okay......”
Having chosen a place, Ricart went to his new home and unpacked. He shoved the messy things that had been there aside.
A newcomer should not have acted so freely, but no one said anything.
The atmosphere inside the dormitory was unsettled, and since no one spoke, it was as quiet as though cold water had been thrown over the room. Ricart thought it must simply be a quiet place.
Boribori sat silently right next to Ricart, but anyone could see that he was conscious of him.
Ricart asked,
“How do classes work?”
“Classes?”
“Yeah. They teach us something, don’t they?”
“Well... they say that for about a year, you go to the city to earn money. During that time, you train your body or make friends on your own. Then, for the remaining year, you pay a donation fee with the money you saved and take classes.”
“I have some money. Do you think this would work?”
Ricart untied his money pouch and poured its contents onto the bed.
Clink, clink.
It was money from selling the valuables he had obtained from the Biltun brothers’ heads and corpses. There were several dozen silver coins and a few gold coins.
Boribori’s eyes widened. He had never seen that much money in his life.
“Uh... I-I don’t know.”
Boribori had arrived before Ricart, but he had only been there for a month. He did not know everything in detail.
“So I just solve my sleeping arrangements here, earn money on my own, pay the donation fee to take classes, complete two years here, leave and work at a guild for three years, and after that, either become a proper adventurer or take the final exam?”
“Uh... maybe? That might be right? But they give us bread in the morning and evening. There’s a place that hands it out. It’s so hard that it’s difficult to eat, though. If you want proper meals and a decent life, you need money anyway......”
Ricart already had plenty of money. Of course, it would not be enough later if he wanted good weapons and equipment, but it was more than enough to live on for now.
“I see. Thanks.”
“Huh? B-But you’re not supposed to say thanks here......”
“Really? Ah, I get what you mean. Sorry.”
“......You’re not supposed to say sorry, either......”
“Haha, yeah. It’s kind of like the military.”
“The military?”
“Yeah. Real comrades don’t need to thank each other or apologize. Because I know I’d risk my life to save my companions, and they would do the same for me.”
Boribori cautiously looked at Ricart. He looked too young to have military experience. Boribori wondered if he was boasting, but seeing how well he fought made him wonder if it was true.
“Oh, and rank is important here. It decides things like where you sleep, or who has to step aside when two people meet in these narrow passages.”
“Rank? Who decides that?”
“No one decides. Everyone just knows.”
There was no official ranking, but the children all knew who fought best and who came after them. They challenged one another and fought, which made the hierarchy more concrete.
From where he sat, Ricart leaned his head out and looked over the children in the dormitory. No matter how he looked at them, they were just children. They all looked like complete pushovers, so he wondered why they bothered ranking anyone.
“Then what rank are you?”
Ricart asked.
“I don’t have one. I’m just at the bottom of the heap.”
“The bottom of the heap? That’s harsh. Then is it better to have a high rank if you want to live comfortably here?”
“They say it’s easier if you just give up on everything and keep your head down. Then after two years, you leave and find something else to do.”
“......That’s kind of sad. By the way, I never asked your name. I’m Ricky. What about you?”
As they talked, Boribori’s fear of Ricart seemed to ease a little. At first, he had seemed like some kind of ghost, but perhaps he really was just a person.
“I’m Boribori.”
But the moment Boribori gave his name, silence fell.
Ricart’s face, which had been speaking with a trace of laughter, turned cold again.
“You really are making fun of me, aren’t you?”
“N-No! It’s true! My name really is Boribori!”
Ricart did not stop looking at Boribori suspiciously. Then, at that moment, the door on the other side opened and someone entered.
It was Volka.
His nose and mouth were covered in blood. He staggered inside, then dropped onto a lower bunk that was not his usual spot.
“What rank is he?”
Ricart asked.
Boribori calmed his startled heart and answered,
“......He’s our leader......”
Footnotes:
The “Me? Me?” exchange plays on na, meaning “I/me” in Korean, which also resembles an animal’s bleat.
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