WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR
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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈
Chapter 164
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Sometimes, one could not remember why things had come to this, even though it was so miserable and tragic.
And in truth, after a certain point, reasons simply ceased to exist. Reasons for people killing people and destroying lives.
Adelune, the capital of the Kingdom of Adelorne, was divided into the Old City and the New City. Farmland lay outside the city, but it had long been abandoned and fallen into ruin.
The Old City had a great fortress atop a hill, with walls surrounding the city.
The New City lay across a river called the Rotaba and overflowed with criminals. What else would soldiers who had forgotten how to fight devote themselves to? Gambling, drink, women, violence, and exploitation.
Even when Ricart appeared with the Steel Knights, the criminals of the New City did not run. They had grown accustomed to their filthy, ugly lives, and now had nowhere else to go.
“Clean it up.”
There was no need for a battle. It was quite literally a cleanup. The knights and the Nords mercenary company entered the city, indiscriminately beat people, killed them, and threw them into the river. They dumped the bodies downstream because the water was needed for drinking.
After making the residents thoroughly clean the filthy city, its streets looked somewhat presentable again. Ricart stationed his troops there.
He paid the residents and formally hired them for various odd jobs. A faint light returned to the eyes of people who had lost all hope in life.
But as with any war, unexpected things happened.
“Grants is not here. He abandoned the castle and left.”
A gaunt young man rolled his large eyes and clutched the cap he had been wearing to his chest.
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
Three days ago was around the time Ricart defeated Imperial Prince Lotharius. Grants seemed to have fled the moment he heard the news.
“Where did he go?”
“Probably east.”
Ricart immediately led a small force toward the Old City. From afar, the gate had appeared closed, but up close, it was slightly ajar.
An eerie feeling seeped through the narrow opening.
When Ricart led the knights into the Old City, the New City looked like heaven by comparison.
Starved, skeletal people lay scattered across the Old City streets like zombies. Infants suckled at the breasts of their dead mothers.
Naturally, they were not frightened by the sight of Ricart and the knights. Their eyes had simply given up on everything. Life, even death.
There was no need to look around. It seemed Grants had taken and stripped away everything he could. Even the graves beside the temple had been dug up.
In truth, this was what happened in an ordinary war. How else were soldiers supposed to be fed?
If Grants had cultivated the farmland, restored order, and ruled properly, things might have been different. Ricart could not tell whether Grants lacked the ability, or knew how but had been unable to do so.
Ricart entered the royal castle of Adelune. The jewels that had decorated the walls were gone, and even the gold leaf had been scraped off. Nothing remained. It was nothing but ruins.
There was no gold, iron, lumber, stone, or even furniture such as beds. Only cobwebs and bleak empty spaces remained.
In any case, Ricart had succeeded in retaking the capital. A capital with nothing left, where even the spirits of past kings had vanished.
Ricart’s strategic goal had been to retake the capital that autumn, rest through winter, and end the war the following year. Now that things had turned out this way, he was troubled.
Retaking the capital without major losses was good, but Ricart knew that problems began when one became greedier than one’s strategic goals.
So, he decided to focus on rebuilding the capital that year while learning more about Grants and the situation around him.
The army could survey the terrain and scout, but it was poorly suited to gathering real intelligence. Paolo helped Ricart with that.
As though linking veins, Paolo took charge of establishing a flow of money into Adelune while advising Ricart.
Though not formally appointed by Ricart, Paolo had naturally become something like a member of Ricart’s advisory council.
“Do you know why Grants is called the Invincible? Because he never fights battles he will lose. He waits and waits, then acts only when he is certain to win.”
“He sounds like a man who can do nothing but run away and betray people. Is that not too grand a nickname for someone like that?”
“That is right. People did not give him that nickname. He gave it to himself. Still, being good at running away and betrayal is enough to destroy a kingdom. As we can see now.”
From what Ricart heard, Grants sounded like nothing special. But anyone who had dragged things this far could not be an ordinary opponent.
Ricart had met many powerful enemies. The most troublesome kind were those who would not fight him, and Grants was that type.
“Then why did he go east?”
“There are several warlords in Adelorne besides Grants. He likely plans to join hands with them or absorb them. He is not completely without military talent, so he will gather as many troops as possible. At least several times more than you have, Commander.”
“Hmm...”
Ricart stroked his chin in thought, then tested Paolo with a question.
“What do you think, Paolo? What should we do now?”
“The ability to fight and surely win is powerful, but it is not enough to take a kingdom. Unless you plan to kill everyone. In particular, your forces can fight, but they are too few to occupy a region. So the army should remain in the capital until at least the end of this year. First, make a list of people to deal with.”
“What kind of list?”
“A list of those who must die and those who should be spared.”
Paolo was telling Ricart to make a kill list.
It was an important but complicated matter. It required more than simply writing down names. They had to understand each person. It could also become important strategic guidance.
They would need to deceive and fight those who had to die. Those who should be spared would need to be persuaded and accepted.
“Do you have something in mind?”
“I do.”
“You talk as though you have everything prepared.”
“Both my trading company and I have bet on you, Commander. Of course we should help you as much as we can.”
Paolo, whose head was unusually large, gave a broad grin.
Honestly, Paolo was the most capable person Ricart had met so far, so capable that it made Ricart uneasy.
Carlich, the headmaster of Beringen Academy, was smart but had a foolish side. Bori and Marie were also capable, but only in their own fields. Paolo was different.
More than anything, Paolo was the first person Ricart had met who viewed matters with the same perspective and insight as Ricart himself.
A sharp sword required careful handling. Ricart was a master of the sword, but it remained to be seen whether he could handle people as well as blades.
What made Ricart wary was that Paolo’s words kept aligning with his own thoughts.
“So, have you made that list?”
“No.”
“What? You spoke as though everything was ready.”
“I have thought about it. I have not finished the work. Besides, even if I gave you such a list, would you trust it? It would be no different from me deciding who should die and who should live, rather than you. So let us discuss them one by one. Whether this person should die or live.”
“...Let us hear about those who should be spared first.”
“Most of them are loyalists of the former royal family. If they have defended their own lands until the end, even in this situation, they must have some ability, and their loyalty should be trustworthy. However, winning their hearts will be difficult.”
“And those who should die?”
“The mercenaries, and those who colluded with them, of course. People who betray once are bound to betray again. Whether they are capable or not, it would be best to kill them early.”
“The categories are simpler than I expected.”
“Yes. Still, looking into each person is the work. Also, it would be best to grant titles if you wish to govern the territory you have taken. Therefore, I do not think it is wise to delay your accession.”
“No. I can govern it myself. As for being king... I do not know.”
“Are you afraid?”
Paolo asked without hesitation. Ricart turned to look at him. Paolo showed neither fear of Ricart nor any sense that he found Ricart remarkable. Perhaps that was why they could speak so openly about work.
Ricart looked steadily into Paolo’s eyes, then nodded calmly.
“That is right. I am afraid.”
“But because you are afraid, you will be different from other kings. You are concerned with what lies beyond the crown itself.”
Ricart gave a faint laugh and lowered his head. It was funny that some merchant understood thoughts he had not even shared with Marie.
Founding a dynasty and ruling people was not something he could accomplish simply by sacrificing himself. It meant carrying on the bloodline and fulfilling that duty for generations.
Ricart had faced the world of contests with his life on the line, but this was a different kind of matter.
“There is a county called Cesca nearby to the north. This autumn, try to bring Count Merves of Cesca over to your side. If Merves joins you, more than half of the loyalists will follow.”
Ricart did not want to kill good people without need. But neither did he want to beg for their hearts. Still, he thought meeting them once would be possible, whatever came of it.
When Ricart nodded in understanding, Paolo asked, “Will you go meet Merves, or summon him here?”
“I will go.”
“When?”
“Now.”
Once he had made up his mind, why delay? Perhaps Ricart’s greatest strength was his ability to act.
Ricart left the capital to Marie and rode north with only Raimund and Roy. It was the fourth day since retaking the capital.
Cesca was not far from Adelune, so they left in the morning and arrived around noon.
As the ground began to rise, there was a fortified gate in a gorge. Seeing the terrain, Ricart could understand why Cesca was defensible. Of course, that meant nothing in the hands of someone incompetent.
The gorge bore clear traces of battle. Broken swords, torn banners, and white bones that had not yet been collected.
When Ricart reached the gate and looked up, a lion-shaped banner was fluttering above. Wary eyes turned toward him.
Without saying anything else, Ricart shouted toward those looking down at him. His voice echoed loudly through the gorge.
“I am Ricart! I lead the Steel Knights and have retaken Adelune, the capital! I wish to meet Count Merves of Cesca, so open the gate!”
But no answer came from those guarding the gate.
A moment later, the gate opened with a Creeeak. Knights poured out in an instant and surrounded Ricart, Roy, and Raimund.
Then, unexpectedly, Count Merves of Cesca appeared in person on horseback. Rather than remaining shut up in the castle, Merves was always present to guard the gate.
Merves’s carefully groomed mustache extended sharply outward, and his eyes were just as sharp.
Perhaps worn down by the civil war, Merves’s response was as sharp as his appearance.
“What is your business? If you came to threaten me, I will return that threat in kind.”
“I did not come to fight. Nor did I come to threaten you.”
“Then state your business.”
“It is time to end the civil war. I will respect your current title and promise to preserve it. Follow me, and let us end this civil war.”
Merves kept a suspicious gaze fixed on Ricart, studying him quietly before asking, “Ricart, your reputation has traveled beyond this gate. But I am curious. Are you truly a knight who understands honor?”
“I am.”
“Who bestowed your knighthood?”
“God.”
“...”
For a moment, only the sound of wind through the gorge could be heard. No one mocked him, but aside from Raimund, no one believed him either.
“Can you prove it?” Merves asked.
Ricart replied with a question. “What can you prove?”
“This gate, which has never been breached, and the duty handed down through my family for generations prove my honor. I will ask again. Can you prove it?”
Without even hearing Merves’s conditions, Ricart answered boldly.
“I can.”
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