WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 15

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The two boys did not seem to be exercising, much less training.

One was simply hanging from the pull-up bar, or climbing onto the parallel bars, holding on for a while, then lifting his legs and sitting astride them.

The other held onto one of the parallel bars’ legs, swaying back and forth as he looked up at the boy sitting above and talked about something.

Judging by their smiles, they seemed to be having the sort of childish conversation kids their age would have.

Ten, maybe twelve. The kind of conversations adults found useless and impossible to understand, but which were the funniest, most important, most serious things in the world to children.

Have you ever seen a turtle? They say it is really fast in water. Then if a rabbit runs on land and a turtle swims in water, which one is faster? Have you ever seen the sea? They say there is nothing but water all the way to the end of the world. The strange thing is, it tastes salty, like someone mixed salt into it. There must be so much salt in it, right?

They were too far away for their voices to carry, but that was somehow what it looked like they were talking about.

Now and then, the wind stirred Ricart’s golden hair as he sat on the parallel bars, making it shimmer in the sunlight.

It had been a week since Ricart entered the Beringen Academy dormitory. Perhaps they had grown a little closer over that time, because Boribori laughed, shook his head, and spoke with him comfortably.

Someone watched the two boys from afar. It was Volka.

Volka still could not understand how Ricart, who looked like nothing more than a little brat no matter how he looked at him, had beaten him. Had Ricart used some kind of magic?

For three days, Volka could not escape the shock and humiliation. On the fourth day, he began to think deeply about it. Why had he lost?

Beyond his anger and sense of injustice, he was simply curious. Why had he lost? Ricart looked like nothing more than a little brat.

Even when he replayed that moment, he could find no answer. There had only been a flash before his eyes, and then he had passed out.

Volka agonized over it alone until he could no longer stand it. Then he strode toward Ricart.

When Boribori saw Volka coming, he jumped in fright and hid behind the parallel bars’ leg, though it did not conceal his whole body. Peeking out with only half his face visible, he stared at Volka with the expression of a frightened frog.

Ricart had been laughing easily as he spoke with Boribori, but when he saw Volka, his expression turned indifferent.

“Hey.”

Volka spoke first.

“Why?”

“Fight me.”

“I told you I lost.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Then what do you want me to do? You said it wouldn’t end unless one of us died or surrendered. But you won’t surrender.”

“Ha... Fine. I lost. Happy? Now fight me.”

“Good grief...”

Ricart sighed, then hopped down from the parallel bars.

“Boribori. Bring me some bandages.”

“O-okay.”

Boribori dashed into the dormitory and brought back bandages. Volka, who had lost to Ricart and been dumped by his girlfriend, wrapped his own hands.

When it looked as though the two were about to fight, the children at the training ground turned their attention toward them. It seemed like a rematch, but neither Ricart nor Volka appeared particularly emotional about it.

So, unlike on the first day, the children did not rush over in a crowd to stir up the atmosphere. They only watched from afar.

This time, they did not bother taking off their shoes and stepping into the sand pit. They faced each other at the edge of the training ground.

Unlike on the first day, Volka was completely on guard. It looked like he intended to fight properly this time, without letting his guard down.

He kept his guard up, held low near his chest, tucked in his chin, and stared straight at Ricart. Ricart, on the other hand, merely stood at an angle in a relaxed posture.

Volka moved his shoulders as though following a rhythm. He shifted sideways around Ricart, then suddenly stepped forward with his lead foot and threw a punch.

No, he failed to throw it again.

Ricart’s fist struck his solar plexus first.

Thud!

Ghk!

Volka’s breath caught at once, and his mind went dizzy. But Ricart had not hit him in the jaw like he had on the first day, so Volka did not pass out in a single blow.

Ricart had deliberately gone easy on him.

Volka barely regained his stance, forcing himself to breathe in and collect his senses. Ricart merely stood there and watched.

Then he spoke.

“How about using your rear foot? You’re way too obvious.”

“W-what?”

“Look. You do this.”

Ricart threw a punch into the air, copying Volka’s movements. It was not a simple imitation. His form was perfect.

“Your lead foot moves forward as you throw your punch. It’s good for striking quickly, but it’s too obvious. The moment you step with that foot, all I have to do is extend my hand, and you come right into my fist. Then I can knock you down without much effort.”

Volka listened to Ricart as if spellbound, both dumbfounded and bewildered.

“But look. Using your rear foot means this. First, pull in your rear foot, then step forward with your lead foot. That lets you close a long distance all at once, making it hard for your opponent to react. You’re deceiving their sense of distance.”

Using the rear foot looked like a somewhat strange stance, but when Ricart demonstrated it in one smooth sequence of movements, it looked incredibly cool.

“That’s why you need to fight over distance first. Don’t just think about throwing punches. Anyone who knows how to fight has learned this as a basic skill. The distance you’re confident at, the distance you aren’t, movements for closing in, movements for creating space, whether you’ll fight by getting inside or keep your distance. But you don’t know any of that. It’s hard for me to let you hit me even if I want to.”

Volka stood there with a dazed expression. Boribori, who was nearby, looked the same. So did the other children watching.

“Come on, try again. Don’t think about throwing a punch yet. Come at me thinking only about closing the distance.”

Volka had clearly never expected to receive instruction from Ricart. Still dumbfounded, he took his stance again and forcibly gathered his focus.

Then, rather than swing immediately, he paid attention to his footwork.

He made several feints against Ricart, who stood still, but Ricart kept his eyes on Volka’s and did not fall for a single one.

Then Volka used his rear foot as Ricart had taught him, closing the distance in a single burst.

The moment the determination of This is it filled his mind, his left leg buckled sideways.

Thud!

Agh!

Volka squeezed his eyes shut. Where did such destructive power come from in that small body? The kick felt as though he had been struck by a club.

He tried to hurriedly create distance again, but his leg would not move as he wanted.

Tap.

Ricart’s fist lightly touched Volka’s jaw.

He had lost.

The difference in their skill was overwhelming. Volka felt it not in his head, but in his skin.

“This is why injuring a leg is so fatal. Want to go again?”

“...Again.”

Ricart stepped back and took his stance once more. But Volka limped on his left leg.

After that, it was not a spar or a match. It was practically a one-sided beating.

Volka had been hit in his right leg as well and could barely stand properly. With his legs hurting, he could not help focusing on them.

He kept moving his arms up and down, unsure of where to defend. He could not block a single blow properly, taking hits all over his upper and lower body.

Naturally, he curled up. Eventually, he lay on the ground and curled into himself like a bug.

Ricart quietly looked down at Volka, then unwound the bandages around his fists. He held out a hand to pull him up and tried to support him with an arm around his shoulders.

“I’ll help you.”

Boribori, who had been hiding, hurried over to support him from the other side. But Volka weakly shook him off despite the pain.

“I-I can walk by myself.”

He tried to stand on his own, but he truly looked as if it was hard even to stay upright.

Volka took several deep breaths as though enduring the pain while standing, then barely moved one foot after another.

Even so, he stubbornly walked by himself.

Watching Volka’s back, Ricart felt strangely drawn to him.

The last time, Volka had refused to surrender until the end and burned with fighting spirit. Even now, he insisted on getting up and walking under his own power. Ricart liked that.

At the same time, he felt sorry for him.

What made him seem pitiful was the feeling that Volka kept trying to isolate himself.

Ricart walked after Volka, and Boribori followed along without quite realizing it.

“Can I come over to your bed later?”

Ricart matched Volka’s slow pace as he asked from behind.

Volka almost burst out laughing despite his whole body aching, which only made it hurt more. Grimacing, he barely managed to answer.

“I’m not interested in turtle-and-rabbit races.”

“...?”

“You can come, but it won’t be fun.”

After entering the dormitory, Volka walked with a hand against the wall. When the children in the corridor saw him, they moved to their beds and cleared the way.

Then five or six unfamiliar boys opened the door across from them and walked out.

When Volka saw them, he stepped aside.

Ricart and Boribori, following behind him, naturally pressed themselves against the wall as well.

Huh? Was Volka not the leader?

As the unfamiliar boys passed Ricart, his eyes met those of the boy at the front.

The boy had silver hair, as though molten silver had been brushed over it. Perhaps he was descended from an elf, because he was strikingly beautiful.

But he had a naturally cold air, as if he had no interest in anything in the world. Perhaps because of that, he quickly withdrew his gaze from Ricart.

The boys used the upper bunks at the very back. They stayed only briefly, then left through the back door.

“Volka, weren’t you the leader?”

“What?”

“I mean, aren’t you ranked first here?”

“I’m not first. I am the leader, though. Ah, ow.”

Volka groaned as he climbed onto his bed. Ricart followed him up, sat on the bed, and looked at Volka as he lay down.

The question was already in Ricart’s eyes, so Volka answered on his own.

“They’re the Ice Gang. Those guys are ranked first through fifth here. I’m around twentieth. But I get work for the kids, and if a fight breaks out in the city, I gather them and go fight. Those guys don’t care about this place at all. I’ve never seen them speak to anyone but each other.”

In other words, Volka acted as the leader in practice, but there were children better than him at fighting and swordsmanship.

“If they don’t care, why did they come here?”

“Well, they’re probably aiming for the Special Rank. Maybe they want to become the Emperor’s Champion someday. Isn’t that what you want too?”

Becoming the Emperor’s Champion was a dreamlike prospect.

It meant becoming a noble in one’s own right, allowing someone born a bastard to surpass the prestige of their main family.

No one would oppress them anymore. Rather, most nobles would grovel before a champion. Being the Emperor’s fixer meant having the privilege of killing even nobles.

But Ricart had no interest in that at all. If anything, he held ill feelings toward the imperial family that had started a war a hundred years ago, not affection.

“Not me. I’m interested in that Mana Drive thing, and in the Codex. That’s why I want to take ancient script classes.”

After staying there for a week, Ricart had realized that they seemed to teach only the basics of swordsmanship and unarmed combat.

For someone with no knowledge of combat techniques, taking those classes would make a huge difference. But that did not apply to Ricart.

That was why he wanted to take ancient script classes, but there was no instructor for them. He had to wait until the academy appointed a professor.

There were no instructors permanently stationed at the academy to teach the children. People sent by the guild taught for a few months, or perhaps a year or two, then simply left and were replaced.

“...You have a bit of a crazy streak too.”

Volka spoke as though he could not believe it.

Being interested in Mana Drive was one thing, but paying money to take such a difficult and boring class was something Volka could not understand.

Quite a few children at the Guild Academy could not even read. They could not even master the writing that already existed, yet Ricart wanted to learn ancient script? In Volka’s opinion, only a crazy person could do that.

“Hahaha, that’s the first time anyone has called me crazy.”

Ricart was usually called an extraordinary genius, so he actually liked being called crazy. It meant Volka saw him as he truly was.

“Then can you show me around the city later?”

“...Sure. But you have classes this week. Let’s go after that.”

“Boribori can come too, right?”

“Bori, what?”

“The kid who was with me. His real name is Boribori.”

“...Yeah, fine.”

Ricart smiled faintly and was about to jump down from the top bunk when Volka called him.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

Volka looked like he had something to say, but hesitated. Then, unable to meet Ricart’s eyes, he looked elsewhere and spoke with difficulty.

“...Thank you.”

“For what? For beating you up? Don’t tell me you...”

“No. For teaching me.”

This place was ultimately about competition. The higher someone ranked, the more they hid their know-how and skills. Teaching someone else was unthinkable.

Volka had been beaten by Ricart, but he had also received instruction and gained his own realization.

For some time, he had felt the difference in talent. No matter how hard he worked, he could not rise above twentieth place. But after listening to Ricart’s explanation, it felt as though something that had blocked him was beginning to loosen.

He was truly grateful for that.

Ricart smiled softly.

“You don’t need to say thank you.”

Then he hopped down.

Volka stared at the spot Ricart had vanished from, swept up in an unfamiliar feeling.

Ricart was a strange child.

In this place, it was natural to look down on and bully students weaker than oneself. Everything revolved around rank.

But Ricart did not boast about his strength, nor did he swagger because he had defeated Volka. In truth, he did not suit this cruel, desolate place.

Volka did not know how to respond to someone who taught him without expecting anything in return, who simply spoke to him kindly and asked whether he could do this or that.

He had almost never received pure goodwill or gentle, warm words.

His father’s violence, his half-siblings’ bullying, his mother’s indifference. Volka had grown up without even knowing such things were wounds to the heart.

So feeling grateful was deeply unfamiliar and embarrassing.

Do not say you are sorry. Do not say thank you.

Volka did not know when that tradition had begun in this place, but he had understood it to mean that the strong were allowed to oppress the weak. The other children seemed to think the same way.

If I am stronger than the other person, I do not need to thank them even if I exploit them to get something from them. And if I hit and curse at them, I do not need to apologize. Why? Because I am stronger.

But it did not seem to mean that to Ricart.

Then what did it mean?

Volka did not know, but even as his whole body throbbed with pain, he could clearly feel warmth in his chest.

Chapter 4: Don’t Say Thank You. End.

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