WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 18

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Boribori filled a wooden cup with water and placed three violets inside. Then he smiled proudly.

“This way, they’ll stay fresh for about two days.”

“What happens after two days?”

“Um, they’ll wilt.”

At the word wilt, Volka’s face twisted up. Without warning, he grabbed the cup and flung the water and flowers out the window.

Splash!

“Ah! Ahh!”

Boribori froze in shock, utterly flustered.

“Quit doing this girly crap!”

Volka shouted as though this were something worth getting so angry about. Ricart took off his bag and set it on the table beside the bed, sighing inwardly.

Guess they really didn’t get along.

Boribori’s face crumpled as he started to tear up. His eyes already looked sad, and now he seemed truly pitiful.

Still, after swallowing back his tears several times and moving his lips soundlessly, he stammered out,

“B-but there are lots of violets in the fields. They’ll bloom again next year when the swallows return. And the year after that too.”

It was a timid act of defiance.

Volka’s eyes widened at that. Perhaps he thought he had gone too far, because he simply turned his head away.

“Let’s go. The sun’s setting.”

Boribori cautiously watched Volka’s reaction, then let out a sigh of relief when he spoke as though nothing had happened.

Ricart shook his head, took his purse, cloak, and dagger, and headed outside.

Volka had a sword at his waist, while Boribori wore only the old clothes of a student who had died at the Academy. He had nothing else.

As they passed through the hall, Dunkel, the bartender, took a sip of alcohol and briefly raised a hand as if wishing them well.

It was still midday outside. They had arrived earlier than expected, taking less than six hours, so there was still some time before sunset.

Ricart spoke.

“If we pass a cloth shop, let’s stop for a moment. I want to buy some clothes. And shoes too.”

“Then let’s move quickly. I have a lot to do.”

“Okay.”

Volka led the two friends toward an apiary a little way outside the city.

Bees began buzzing around them before they even arrived, and it was incredibly irritating.

Volka grumbled that he hated coming here every time. Ricart also kept waving a hand through the air and dodging about, but Boribori walked around without any trouble.

He even let a bee land on his fingertip and smiled as though he found it amusing.

After climbing a hill through thick brush, they found several beehives in an open clearing. Nearby stood Academy students wearing thick clothes that covered their entire bodies.

Whether they had grown used to it or were simply too hot, they had taken off half their protective outerwear despite the bees flying about.

“Volka.”

They recognized Volka. He kept swatting bees away as he answered.

“Nothing happened, right?”

“Yeah. This time, they paid on time without delaying. Thanks to you.”

They looked at Ricart and Boribori, and the student who had witnessed Ricart’s skill firsthand seemed somewhat awkward.

“Hello.”

So Ricart greeted them first.

“Huh? Uh, yeah...”

“There are always bastards who only listen when you talk to them like that. They went on and on about knowing someone at headquarters, but it was all bullshit. If anyone has connections, we do. Who the hell do they think they are... Ah! That stings! Fuck!”

Volka was cursing someone who was not even there when a bee finally stung him.

Ricart ignored him and asked one of the students working at the apiary,

“Is the work manageable?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah. It’s manageable. It’s spring now, so the bees are starting to make honey in earnest. We need to keep watch for hornets, robbing bees, things like that. There’s nothing especially difficult to do.”

“Hey, hurry up and give me the money. It hurts like hell.”

Volka seemed to be exaggerating over a single bee sting. He had kept charging at Ricart no matter how badly Ricart beat him.

“Quit talking nonsense and give me the money already.”

Volka urged them on.

“Yeah. Hold on.”

The students at the apiary seemed to have collected the money beforehand. They handed Volka three copper coins, apparently one coin per person.

It was a job referral fee and a kind of protection money.

Ricart did not know the exact details, but it seemed there had recently been trouble over unpaid wages.

Honey and beeswax were precious in this era, so beekeeping was usually a business monopolized by the lord. The problem was the middle managers.

They skimmed money off the top, so whenever something happened, Volka had no choice but to use force. Handling matters like that was Volka’s role.

Still, receiving all of the wages they were owed was practically impossible. Even if they pressed the middle managers hard, they could not actually beat them up. At best, they could negotiate whether the managers took half or only ten percent.

That was reality.

The reason this happened was because those middle managers were usually retainers or servants of the lord, required to work for the lord without pay.

If a lord was considerate, they sometimes paid wages while accounting for the money skimmed in the middle. Even then, there was no specific rule governing how much the middle managers and actual workers would divide between themselves.

The worst case was when there were many middle managers. The lord would leave the work to a retainer, who would leave it to another retainer or servant. By the time the money reached the people actually doing the work, almost nothing remained.

Still, Beringen was better off than most places because that did not happen often.

“Hey! I’m leaving! Tell me if anything happens!”

The moment Volka received the money, he turned around and practically fled down the hill. Even as he ran, he kept flailing his arms.

Ricart and Boribori hurried after him without thinking, then turned back and waved.

“It was nice meeting you. See you next time!”

The student Ricart had spoken with and the two guarding the beehives awkwardly raised their hands as well.

Volka ran hard until he left the bees’ territory, then stopped and panted.

“Pant, pant. You’ve got to get the shitty work out of the way early.”

“Where are we going next?”

“The blacksmith’s. It’s close to the northern district, so be careful. You don’t need to be that scared, though. Nords are fucking good with iron. When you have money later, Ricky, buy your sword there too.”

Volka said this while tapping the sword at his waist. It had no special decorations, but its construction and finish looked excellent. Of course, one had to draw it to know for certain.

Ricart and Boribori followed Volka to the riverside. It was a windy place, and a blacksmith’s workshop stood where a waterwheel turned powerfully.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang...!

The steady rhythm of iron being struck reached them. Then a familiar scent drifted past Ricart’s nose on the wind.

The scent of fire and iron.

But mixed with it were sweat and birth, not blood and death.

Unlike at the apiary, Volka did not approach confidently. He lingered around the blacksmith’s workshop instead. Then someone carrying and pouring molten iron noticed them and approached.

It was a student named Molty, the most prematurely aged-looking student at the Academy. They were much taller than Volka and had a build that did not lose out even to the Nords.

Could they actually be of Nord blood?

Just from appearances, no one could have believed they were still a teenager. Their hairline had already begun to recede, leaving their forehead bare enough to make them look like they were in their forties.

Their face was flushed red from work and covered in black soot. They wiped sweat from their face with a filthy rag.

Then they walked up to Volka and silently handed over money.

For some reason, it was not one copper coin, but three.

“Sorry. I’m not doing that well either.”

“No. I’ll be going. Keep at it.”

“Okay.”

They were about to leave after that brief exchange when Ricart asked a question. Boribori hid behind Ricart, only peeking out with his eyes.

“Is the work manageable?”

Molty looked down at Ricart and answered in a deep voice.

“You earn as much as you sweat. It’s honest work. I’m satisfied with that.”

“But I’m curious. How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Liar.”

Molty merely chuckled and turned back to work.

“Hey, Ricky. Quit saying pointless things and let’s go.”

Volka had said there was no need to be scared, but the Nords clearly made him uneasy, and he wanted to leave quickly.

The Nords’ thick beards seemed to bubble in the heat. They did not appear to care about the group at all.

Water ran down the tips of blades just pulled from quenching. They were masterpieces born from flame through nothing but strength and sweat.

“Let’s go, Ricky. I’m scared too.”

Volka had already moved away, and Boribori tugged at the edge of Ricart’s cloak.

Ricart wanted to watch a little longer, but he had no choice but to leave.

Volka took Ricart and Boribori around to various places. A tanning workshop, a slaughterhouse, places where people simply carried cargo, and more.

There was even a brothel among them.

At each place, he collected job referral fees or protection money. Yet Volka’s expression darkened as he counted the coins.

Before they knew it, the sun had lowered and the sky was turning red. Workers also began leaving their workplaces for their lodgings.

Fortunately, they made it to a cloth shop before it closed. Ricart bought clothes and shoes there, then gave them to Boribori.

Boribori had thought Ricart was buying clothes for himself. When Ricart gave him the items instead, his eyes went wide in shock, and he could not even say thank you.

Ricart seemed to understand how he felt.

“It’s okay. We said we wouldn’t thank each other, remember?”

“Th-then what should I say? Should I say I’m sorry?”

“Ha ha, that doesn’t seem right either. Just use them well. That would make me happy.”

“Ricky...”

Boribori teared up.

Such kindness.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Boribori could not hold back his tears.

“Waaaaah!”

“Hey! Are you crazy!?”

When Boribori burst into tears in the middle of the street, Ricart froze in surprise. Trying to calm him did not help. Before long, he was sobbing as though his heart had broken.

“Waaahhh!”

“This won’t do. Let’s get back to the lodging.”

Ricart took hold of Boribori and dragged him toward the guild headquarters. All the while, Boribori clutched his new clothes and shoes tightly to his chest as though they were priceless treasures.

They were going to wrinkle everything.

Fortunately, Boribori’s tears had subsided by the time they reached the guild headquarters.

But Volka, who had been silent and stiff-faced the entire way, hesitantly spoke to Ricart.

“Um, hey, Ricky.”

“Huh? What is it?”

“When I saw you at the cloth shop earlier, it looked like you have quite a bit of money...”

“Well, I got lucky and made a little on the way to the Academy.”

“So, um... I was wondering if you could lend me a little.”

“How much?”

“Five... silver coins...”

Five silver coins was by no means a small amount. Of course, whether someone had a lot of money or not was relative, but on average, that was true.

To an ordinary person, five silver coins was a fortune. Especially for young boys.

“Can you tell me what it’s for?”

Volka could not even properly meet Ricart’s eyes. He scratched the bridge of his nose and spoke in a voice as small as a mosquito’s.

“I’m short on my tribute payment...”

Tribute payment? What did that mean?

“Do you need it right now?”

“Yeah. It’s due today. I have to do my own work tomorrow.”

Ricart took out his purse and removed five silver coins. As he handed them to Volka, he said,

“I can come with you too, right?”

“Huh? Uh...”

“Do we need to go now?”

“Uh...”

“Let’s go.”

Ricart started walking first without even knowing where they were going. Boribori blinked his tearful eyes, wiped away his tears, and simply followed.

The sunset deepened, and as the sun disappeared, dusk began to settle over the land.

Around then, Ricart’s group arrived somewhere in a quiet field, with farmhouses scattered sparsely across it.

A bonfire burned, and people gathered in separate groups around it, trading jokes.

There were three groups in all, totaling just over twenty people. They were Academy students.

There were about as many male as female students, and some male and female students were pressed close together, perhaps because they were dating.

The Ice Gang, the students ranked one through five, remained some distance away. They said nothing and simply remained still.

It was impossible to tell what they were thinking.

The other students giggled or spoke with serious expressions.

Then Volka came over, Crunch, crunch, through the grass, and the conversations suddenly stopped.

Volka approached each group and gave them money. There was no particular conversation as the money changed hands.

After giving it all away, he turned back.

Ricart and Boribori had watched from afar, standing blankly, before following Volka.

“Why do you have to give them money?”

Ricart asked.

“That’s just how the world is, isn’t it? It’s the same here.”

Just as farmers worked their fields and paid taxes to the lord, the Academy had a structure where lower-ranked students pooled their money and paid it to higher-ranked students.

Volka had beaten the fifteenth-ranked student in class that day, reducing the number of people he had to pay tribute to. But that did not mean he had to pay less money.

“They used to just beat us and take it. Even if we couldn’t find work in the city, they’d beat us for money, and it only got worse. A lot of kids jumped off cliffs. But I thought there should at least be jobs. And maybe it would be better if everyone pooled their money...”

Volka was not introducing students to work and protecting them purely for his own benefit.

Rather, doing that meant he could not look after himself, to the point that he had to spend his own money on tribute payments.

“Sorry. I’ll definitely pay you back.”

Volka lowered his head apologetically. With his independent nature, asking Ricart for money seemed to have truly embarrassed him.

Then Ricart suddenly stopped walking.

He turned around and strode back toward the bonfire.

Volka and Boribori followed Ricart without understanding why.

When they reached the bonfire, the three groups of students were still there. All of them looked at Ricart, who had appeared so suddenly.

Ricart stood before them and said,

“Hey. You lot. Give the money back.”

Silence fell, and for a while, only the sound of the bonfire burning could be heard.

Sparks rose from the ends of the blazing flames and vanished into the air.

Then someone let out a disbelieving puff of breath.

“Are you the new kid who beat up Volka?”

“I told you to give the money back.”

“You know, we don’t do childish stuff like Pankration.”

One student said this while sliding the sword at their waist slightly closer.

Ricart ignored it and stared the student down.

The reflected flames flickered in the boy’s hazel eyes.

But they were not hotter than the anger quietly burning beyond them.

Ricart spoke softly, but clearly enough for everyone to hear.

“You’re going to die...”

Footnotes:

“Violet” is jebikkot in Korean, literally “swallow flower,” which echoes Boribori’s reference to returning swallows.

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