WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 148

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The canvas of the tents fluttered in the night wind. From the camp came none of the crude, drunken laughter and shouting so typical of an army.

Word had spread among the soldiers that, rather than sacrifice countless lives, the commanders would decide victory and defeat in a one-on-one duel.

The soldiers all knew as well. Ricart and Bilter were brothers.

War held many tragedies, but none was as sorrowful as blood relatives taking up blades against one another after being divided into opposing sides.

Inside the dark tent, Ricart sat hunched over in a chair, clutching his head. It was impossible to tell whether he was asleep or dead. He remained like that for a long time. He did not sob.

Hashim truly had nothing he could say to Ricart. Think beyond this? Accept it?

In the end, a person had to find their own answer.

Unexpectedly, Ricart raised his head and spoke to Hashim first. His expression was calm.

“If something happens to me, Hashim, please tell my family that I died in battle. I will give you my sword, armor, and horse. Sell them, and you should have no great trouble living.”

“...Is that your last will?”

“Something like that.”

“Can you not bring yourself to decide?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“I think I will only know when the moment comes. Until then, no matter how much I try to make up my mind, I cannot. I have never hesitated when drawing my sword from its scabbard, whether it was right or wrong. Perhaps that is why I have never been defeated. So if hesitation touches the tip of my sword, I do not know what will happen to me. I have never experienced such a thing.”

“What makes you fight your brother, Ricky?”

“I do not know that either. Stupid, isn’t it? Hahaha...”

“Then what if you think of it this way? If you do not stop your brother, things will only grow worse. For your brother himself, and for innocent people. Horrible things will keep happening, so you have no choice but to fight for someone’s sake.”

“You always have the right answer, Hashim. But for now, I want to remain without knowing. Because I do not want to justify it with anything. Tomorrow, one of us will become a killer of kin. That alone is the clear truth.”

“Do not be so hard on yourself... No one will condemn you that way.”

Ricart gave a faint smile at Hashim’s comfort.

“Thank you. But I would like to be alone now.”

Hashim nodded. Before leaving the tent, however, he asked one question.

“What did you pray for at the holy site?”

“It is a little embarrassing to say now.”

“I remember I told you. I prayed that you would meet your brother.”

“Then your wish has come true. Mine was nothing special. In the end, I said I wanted to become someone who weeps quietly. I think I wished to become capable of that. Funny, isn’t it?”

“No. Your wish will come true as well.”

“Perhaps...”

“Get some rest.”

Hashim left the tent. Campfires lit by soldiers burned throughout the encampment.

Hashim had little that could be called baggage. No food, no clothes. When his shoes wore out, he simply walked barefoot.

Holding the bottle containing the crystal flower, he left the camp. He climbed a low rocky hill nearby, sat upright, closed his eyes, and entered deep contemplation.

There was one thing he had not told Ricart. His memories no longer mattered to him.

All he wanted now was for Ricart to overcome his guilt and sorrow, then live a healthy life again.

Could there be magic capable of making that possible? He did not know now, but perhaps he would if he recovered his lost memories.

Still, he feared that recovering those memories would shake his present resolve. That was why he entered contemplation, so that he would not waver.

Hashim retraced his past as though counting grains one by one.

Without realizing it, he had connected the gaps in his fragmented memories with plausible explanations. He severed all those connections and looked at each memory exactly as it was.

Even so, it was difficult to know the being called “I.” He could not know what he was, or who he was, either in the past or now.

Yet while the flesh was bound by time and space, thoughts and the heart could travel into the past. Hashim sank ever deeper into contemplation. His senses grew dull, and he began to forget the time passing in reality.

The night deepened, dawn broke, and the sun raised its head. When he opened his eyes again, nothing had changed. Yet that somehow felt fortunate.

However, by the time his contemplation ended and he faced reality, the duel was already about to begin. Dark clouds filled the sky.

Nearly ten thousand men from both sides filled the field. Their murmuring was not loud, and the atmosphere resembled a massive funeral.

Bilter appeared first. He rode a gray horse and wore no helmet. In duels, people often went without helmets because they interfered with sight and hearing.

Soon after Bilter appeared, Ricart rode out on a red horse, carrying a spear. Everyone in the field watched the two men.

There was no judge, no announcer. Ricart and Bilter only looked at one another from afar.

When Bilter moved forward first, Ricart did the same. Then Bilter increased his speed and charged at his younger brother, and Ricart dug in his heels and galloped forward.

In an instant, the two reached full speed. With no past and no future, the tips of their spears pierced through time, seeking only death.

Would a single clash decide the outcome? Hashim and the others watching felt their hearts tighten.

At the decisive moment, the two spearpoints merely sliced through empty air. The brothers sped past one another and quickly turned their horses.

Ricart’s horse was far better, allowing him to turn more quickly and charge again. Yet he could not be as fast as during the first charge.

Ricart’s spear seemed as though it might strike Bilter. But Bilter did not charge straight at him. He narrowly slipped away to the side, released his spear, drew his sword, and cut through Ricart’s spear shaft.

As though he had expected it, Ricart did not panic in the slightest. He threw away his spear without regret and drew his own sword.

Golden flames rose along its blade. But flames also rose from Bilter’s sword.

Their colors were different. One was golden, while Bilter’s was red, full of vengeance and resentment. The two horses tangled chaotically as the swords collided.

Then a sound no one had ever heard in their lives rang out loudly enough to reach even Hashim in the distance.

Clang!

The shockwave spread, pressing the grass flat across the field. From far away, the two fighters looked small, but all the savagery of their battle carried across the distance.

With things as they were, no one could tell who would win. Hashim grew desperate and unconsciously shattered the bottle containing the crystal flower.

He placed the crystal flower in a small bowl and crushed it thoroughly with a stick. Like ice or glass breaking, the crystal flower turned to powder. Hashim set it alight.

Smoke rose, and Hashim brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply. A chilling scent like the coldness of the underworld passed through his nostrils, struck his brain, and directly struck something beyond it.

His body jolted. His lost memories unfolded like a panorama, branding themselves upon his eyes.

At some dock, he saw a slave boy. His terribly thin body was clothed in rags, and the marks of abuse were obvious. His eyes seemed to have died long ago. Hashim approached the boy and asked,

“What is your name?”

“Armand.”

“Do you not find the world cursed?”

“I am just... lonely.”

“Then shall I teach you a secret method? Would you like to make a family or friends?”

“Yes.”

“In exchange, your soul will no longer belong to you.”

“I do not have a soul anymore. I have to kill my soul to live.”

“I understand...”

He had no idea how long ago that memory was. Yet from the scenery around him, he could guess that it had been an unimaginably distant past.

Another memory. A magnificent mountain range capped in eternal snow spread before him. Beside him stood a large, honest-looking man with short hair.

“No, listen, I’m telling you, it will not be able to use its power if we pull out its horns. You know the saying, don’t you? Pull the bull's horn while it's still warm.”

“That saying does not apply to this situation. And the horns you speak of do not belong to some cow. They belong to a dragon.”

“Horns are horns. What difference does it make?”

“Haah...”

“Just trust Sir Ilya! If you are really worried, old man, you can hide somewhere! I will take care of everything! We will recover your memories in one go with the dragon’s magic! It is a perfect plan!”

The big man flexed both arms as though showing off his strength. His rough but bright smile was truly like sunlight.

But that sunlight became a scorching sun, and Hashim traveled further into the past.

It was weather hot enough to make one sweat just standing still. Cicadas chirped in the distance. He stood in the middle of a wheat field. The ripe yellow wheat reached his waist.

“Say that again!”

“Ah, I said it was an accident! You are so fussy. I said I am sorry!”

“Is that how someone who is sorry acts!? You did it on purpose, did you not!? You deliberately let the sheep loose in my field, did you not!?”

“I said I did not! Why would I do that on purpose!?”

The boy abruptly turned around and continued on his way. Rage suddenly surged through Hashim. He shoved the boy hard, climbed on top of him after he fell, picked up a stone nearby, and raised it above his head.

Then he brought it down.

Thud!

“Argh! What are you doing!?”

Thud!

“D-Do not do this! I am sorry! I was wrong...!”

Thud!

“Please forgive me!”

Thud!

“Cain, please... forgive...”

Thud! Thud! Thud! Crunch!

“Hah!”

Cain’s eyes flew open. His eyes and mouth were wide open. His entire body shook violently from the immense shock. Tears streamed down his rigid face.

Though it had happened in an unimaginably distant past, the horrific sensation was vivid in his hands.

Cain was overwhelmed by tremendous regret, guilt, and his own unbearable cowardice. He had discarded his memories to escape that guilt.

That was largely why he had developed magic, and why he had repeatedly committed the foolish act of losing his memories and relearning magic from the disciples he himself had taught.

A suffering that crushed his heart and soul swept over him. Then the brothers’ cries pulled him back into reality.

“Coward!”

“You are the coward!”

The brothers’ duel had already become a dirty fight. It was deeply emotional, without a trace of technical beauty.

They had fallen from their horses and rolled across the field, grappling with one another. At one moment Bilter straddled his younger brother, and at the next Ricart reversed their positions and climbed on top.

They struck one another wildly with their fists, ready to bring down anything they could grab.

“No!”

Cain shouted. But his cry was too distant to reach them. Magic, magic!

Cain hurried to use magic, but now that he had recovered his memories, he could no longer use its power. The essence of his magic was oblivion.

At that moment, Ricart reached out and seized his sword lying nearby.

His posture broke slightly, and Bilter threw him off and escaped. He too gripped his sword. The instant they held their swords, the brothers swung at one another.

It was the narrowest of margins. Ricart’s sword pierced Bilter’s abdomen.

“Guh!”

Clang.

Bilter dropped his sword. Ten thousand brave people filled the field, yet it was silent as a grave. Cain stared blankly at the sight.

Blood flowed from the abdomen of the man born from the same womb, soaking Ricart’s hand. The emotions that had burned fiercely within him cooled as though they had been a lie. What have I done?

For a moment, Ricart’s vision spun. Mother, I have killed your child. What am I supposed to do?

Bilter’s legs gave out and he collapsed. Ricart fell to his knees and caught him in his arms. He could not even get out the words that he was sorry. His thoughts were a mess, and his mouth only opened and closed.

Bilter stretched out a trembling hand and touched Ricart’s cheek. Only now did he speak from his heart.

“I missed you, Ricky...”

Tears fell steadily from Ricart’s dazed face.

“The truth is, I am a coward. I miss Father and our older brother too... I developed so much patience, but... I am sorry for saying such cruel things... Forgive me... Hah...”

With his final breath, Bilter’s head fell limp. His soul left through his open pupils.

The boy in my most beautiful memories, my older brother, Billy, had never disappeared. We had laughed together, run through fields, played pranks, slept together at night, and when we parted, he had looked so frightened...

What had driven that boy this far?

Unable to accept reality, Ricart remained blank for a long while. Then, clutching his dead brother’s body, he bowed his head. He clenched his teeth hard enough to shatter them.

At the holy site, he had prayed to become someone who wept quietly. It seemed that wish would not come true.

Ricart threw back his head toward the gray sky filled with dark clouds and unleashed a grief too great to bear.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhh!”

Ricart’s scream reached the ten thousand people in the field and Cain atop the rocky hill.

Cain closed his eyes. His eyelids trembled, and his lashes grew wet. In the end, what was meant to happen would happen. As he had taught Armand.

But now, there was no need for oblivion. He faintly understood the work of God, and had only one earnest wish.

I will no longer run away, and I will bear eternal suffering. Please lay his sin upon me. Let me take in his sorrow and pain...

Then suddenly, as though his prayer had truly reached the heavens, a hole burst open in the sky full of dark clouds. From there, light streamed down to where Ricart was.

It was a golden pillar of light linking earth and heaven, pouring down like a waterfall.

It was as though God had pointed precisely at someone with a finger. The One who saw the beginning and end of the universe, all of time, pointed precisely at this moment, at the present, at one person.

Everyone present witnessed an event that could only be called a miracle, and shock covered their faces.

Ricart’s hair streamed in the wind as he looked up at the light falling upon him. There was no glare, only pure white.

Within that pure white light were absolution, forgiveness, compassion, and love. The sorrow and pain remained, but beyond them he saw healing and joy.

The heart that had been torn into thousands, tens of thousands of pieces healed quickly, though it seemed slow.

Then, at some point, the beam of light narrowed and vanished. The hole remained in the sky as clouds slowly filled it.

Ricart suddenly felt that the arms holding Bilter had become light. Looking down, Bilter was nowhere to be seen. Only his sword lay alone on the ground.

On the rocky hill, clothes scattered across the ground and ashes blew in the wind.

There had been a first murder, and it had occurred between brothers. At last, the long chain of sin had come to an end.

Everyone in the field knelt before the knight chosen and invested by God, removed what they wore on their heads, and made the sign of the cross.

There was no longer grief or sobbing in Ricart as he bowed his head. Tears merely flowed quietly.

This was how God saved everyone, and no one could understand it.

Footnotes:

“Pull the bull's horn while it's still warm” is a Korean proverb urging immediate action, setting up Ilya's literal misunderstanding.

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