WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR
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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈
Chapter 19
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Night had fallen, and even the last violet traces of twilight had vanished. A campfire burned in a quiet clearing somewhere east of Beringen.
The flickering flames looked like a wicked demon that had caught the scent of death, smacking its lips and flicking out its tongue.
Crack. Crackle. Crack...
Though the figure itself remained still, its shadow lengthened and shrank on its own, like the dance of a cursed doll.
Someone sitting on a fallen log rose smoothly to their feet, a hand resting on the sword at their waist. Across the fire, they looked at the boy beyond it.
“Back then, whenever the seniors spotted a promising sprout, they cut it down early. Things have gotten a lot better these days.”
In other words, they killed anyone who might become a future rival before they could grow.
What did that have to do with me?
Ricart looked at the other person, his eyes blazing with anger.
“A few silver coins for your life. You’re cheap. Not even worth as much as a country bandit.”
He meant the Bolton brothers. They had been worth thirty silver coins each.
At Ricart’s ruthless insult, the other person drew their sword with practiced ease. Its sleek blade gleamed in the firelight.
Watching from a distance, Boribori felt the hairs on his body stand on end at the sight of a real sword.
There was a distinctive chill to a sharp blade when seen in person. Somehow, it was alluring. Almost magical.
Ricart, meanwhile, showed no particular change in expression as he turned to Volka.
“Volka, lend me your sword.”
“Huh? Uh...”
“Quickly.”
Volka glanced nervously at the people around the campfire, then hurried over to Ricart and whispered.
“He’s ranked seventh in the pecking order. He can use mana. It’s not too late, so apologize. I’ll try to smooth things over.”
Ricart ignored him, pulled the sword from Volka’s waist, then gave Volka a light push.
“Stand back, Volka. You might get hurt.”
By then, Volka’s heart was racing with worry, anxiety, and fear. What was he supposed to do?
Unaware of Volka’s feelings, Ricart drove the situation to its extreme. There was no taking back what had already been done.
The other person gave an incredulous laugh when they saw Ricart holding the sword.
The sword was too long and too heavy for him. Put simply, he looked like a little kid holding a blade.
Yet somehow, he looked strangely steady. Right. It wasn’t as though he had never trained.
Without taking a stance, the other person walked to the side of the campfire. Ricart moved there as well.
“I don’t know why you’ve lost all sense of fear, but that’s how the world works. God gives talent, and those without it are meant to support people like us.”
Ricart was genuinely dumbfounded. It was truly the twisted thinking of an immature fool.
“Sorry, but talent doesn’t guarantee your life.”
Ricart did not give an inch, and his words struck home. The other person’s mood soured badly. Perhaps Ricart’s very refusal to be afraid, even with a sword drawn, was what grated on them.
He should have been terrified of me, crawling and trembling.
“Hm... I definitely want to see you crying and begging for forgiveness. Let’s start with an arm.”
The other person still did not take a stance. They merely let the sword hang at their side and drew in a deep breath.
Though there was no wind, the burning campfire flickered strangely. They seemed to be using mana.
Then they let out a long breath and paused.
At that instant, the campfire bent sharply to one side as if struck by a violent wind.
Whoosh!
“Hup!”
The other person suddenly appeared in front of Ricart. Their eyes were wide, their cheeks puffed with air, and their sword raised high overhead.
They had closed the distance at an inhuman speed, as if the intervening movement had been cut away.
Sword light flashed beneath the dark, moonlit sky.
Clang!
Metal rang out, tearing through the night’s silence.
Along with the shock running through their wrist, Ricart’s opponent felt an odd emptiness.
Their sword had been cut in half.
What? Wait.
In that brief instant, countless thoughts flashed through their mind.
Was it defective? No. They maintained it every day.
Their mana technique was still crude, and they had already rushed far past Ricart.
They hurriedly tried to shout at their friends for a new sword.
But no sound came out.
Cough! Ghk!
What was happening? Wait.
They felt their clothes growing wet and hurriedly put a hand to their neck. Warm blood instantly soaked their hand.
Only then did their eyes widen.
Ricart, standing beside the fire, turned to look at them. The anger in his eyes had faded somewhat, replaced by cold indifference.
Everyone, including their friends, stared at them with eyes stretched wide.
At the same time, two thoughts collided in their mind.
One denied reality. The other tried to accept it objectively.
I lost? That can’t be. No, wait. Am I going to die? That’s a lie. It makes no sense. Die? I’m just... I just...
They had never even prepared themselves for death. They were not ready to accept what was happening.
Yet no matter how denial and acceptance fought in their head, their soul had already gone halfway to the underworld.
More than anything, they were beginning to suffocate. Blood that had left its proper path through the veins was blocking their airway.
Cough! Cough! Grrk...
Clatter.
They dropped the broken sword. After staggering for a while, their head spun, their vision blurred, and they collapsed.
Their body soon went limp, and the light drained from their eyes.
Their throat had been cut exactly deep enough to kill them. Even after death, blood continued to gush from their mouth for some time.
The campfire burned.
The moon in the sky remained unchanged.
Whether they died or not.
Everyone froze in place at the unbelievable sight. Even if they had somehow broken the sword by chance, cleanly cutting through someone’s throat in a single stroke was impossible without magic. If it had been intentional, it was enough to make their skin crawl.
But to Ricart, the opponent had merely been a monkey that moved quickly.
Ricart knew the principle that timing came before speed, and precision overwhelmed strength. More importantly, he had the ability to put that principle into practice.
Someone who simply moved quickly with mana or tried to overpower him with strength could never be a match for Ricart.
Holding Volka’s sword, Ricart swept his contemptuous gaze across the Academy’s highest-ranked students.
Strangely, Volka’s sword did not have even the smallest nick. Instead, the fire reflected in its blade seemed to writhe as though it craved even more blood.
The boy standing in the firelight looked proud. Before the Academy’s highest ranks, he was not merely unafraid. He overwhelmed them.
The labels of newcomer and little kid that had clung to Ricart fell away. Like the world had been overturned, every dismissive look from moments ago vanished as well.
They had been replaced with disbelief at the result, shock at a reality they could not accept, and fear that they themselves might die.
No matter how much he looked like a child, the presence of someone who had made the world tremble in fear was more than students who had not even stepped into society could bear.
The gap between his appearance and that presence made him all the more chilling and terrifying.
“Listen carefully from now on. Until you graduate, don’t spout that talent bullshit in front of me. You’re all fucking weaklings anyway. There will be no more tribute payments. And one more thing. From now on, I’m ranked first. If anyone has a problem with that, step forward now.”
The others did not immediately grasp the reality before them, but their eyes naturally turned toward Ice, the current first rank, and his group.
Ricart’s gaze also shifted to the silver-haired boy who resembled moonlight.
But Ice showed neither hostility toward Ricart nor submission. His expression was simply blank.
Ice took the tribute payments from his pocket and placed them on the ground. Without voicing any objection, he quietly left with his group.
To everyone else, it looked like submission.
When Ice left, two black silhouettes that had been watching from afar also departed.
It might have been somewhat anticlimactic, but that settled it.
Ricart was now ranked first.
Ricart had settled the pecking order with a single stroke and recovered all the tribute payments. The dead student, whose name he did not know, was taken away by his friends.
After returning Volka’s sword, Ricart, Volka, and Boribori headed back to the guild headquarters together. On the way, Ricart handed Volka the money.
“You don’t have to pay tribute anymore, boss.”
“Ri, Ricky...”
Volka took back the money and looked at Ricart with trembling eyes, then at the coins in his own hand. Suddenly, he clenched his teeth and lowered his head. He struggled desperately to swallow down what was rising in his throat, biting down so hard it seemed his teeth might break.
Independent as Volka was, he was still young. Of course he wanted someone to rely on, someone to protect him sometimes.
The sorrow and resentment he had carried all his life could not be put into words. The tender heart he had kept suppressed all this time came flooding out at once.
“L-let’s go on ahead, Ricky.”
Boribori tugged at Ricart’s cloak.
“...Okay.”
Ricart could read the room well enough. He left Volka alone because he knew that was the considerate thing to do right now.
Only after Ricart and Boribori had gone some distance did tears stream from Volka’s tightly shut eyes.
Before long, he sank to the ground, buried his face in his arms, and sobbed.
Volka’s crying could be heard behind Ricart. It sounded like a grieving beast pouring out all the sorrow in its heart.
The moonlight was especially soft that night.
The following day, Ricart and Boribori woke up tangled in a mess, their blankets tossed about as though neither had bothered to cover themselves properly.
Ricart looked around with his hair sticking up in every direction, then noticed Volka was gone. Wondering if something had happened during the night, he quickly dressed and went downstairs.
“Uncle Dunkel, have you seen Volka?”
“Well, ‘uncle’ is a bit...”
“Dunkel, old man, have you seen Volka?”
“...He left early this morning, young master.”
Dunkel had subtly threatened Ricart. It was an unspoken warning that if Ricart kept calling him uncle or old man, he would reveal that Ricart was a noble.
Ricart understood the intention and grinned as though amused.
This guy knows what he’s doing, huh?
Well, as long as Volka was safe, that was enough.
“Do you know where Volka works?”
“I don’t. His jobs change every time.”
“Uh... Then how long can we stay here? We’re leaving today, but I should at least say goodbye to Volka.”
“Stay until lunchtime. If you want to remain longer, pay for the room.”
Ricart tapped his fingers on the bar as he considered how long it would take to return to the Academy and various other things. He decided to wait until lunchtime, and if Volka did not come back by then, there was nothing to be done.
First, he returned to the room, woke Boribori, and ate breakfast. Then they wandered around the headquarters building and looked around the city a little.
But it was not fun at all. It was not exciting, either.
They simply looked at this and that blankly before returning to the headquarters around lunchtime.
They prepared to leave and ate, but Volka still did not appear.
He hasn’t gone missing or anything, Ricart thought. Then he decided to return to the Academy.
“See you next time, Dunkel, old man.”
He tossed out the farewell and immediately left the building. With Boribori, he retraced the path they had taken to get there.
Once they left the crowded area, a spring breeze blew in. The scents of grass and flowers brushed against their noses.
They paused to look over the fields when Volka’s voice called out from behind them.
“Hey! Ricky! Boribori!”
Ricart and Boribori had acted as though nothing was wrong all morning, but when they finally heard the voice they had wanted to hear, they spun around as if they had been waiting for it.
Volka was running toward them from afar.
Only then did smiles spread over their expressionless faces.
“Is work manageable? What kind of work are you doing?”
“Manageable or not, take this. I have to go again.”
Volka held something out.
It was clothing.
When Ricart unfolded it, a gaudy purple violet was embroidered over the chest.
He could not possibly have embroidered it himself. He must have hurriedly asked someone he knew to make it, keeping himself busy since early that morning. Purple thread could not have been easy to find.
“This way, it won’t wilt. And...”
Volka hesitated for a moment, rubbing his nose in embarrassment before speaking to Boribori.
“I’m sorry about last time. For throwing your flower outside.”
It was astonishing.
Volka was apologizing.
Perhaps it was nothing short of a miracle.
“I-I’m sorry too. For acting like a girl.”
Boribori apologized as well. Though it was unclear whether that was something he needed to apologize for.
Volka kept scratching his short hair, seemingly embarrassed.
Then a cool spring breeze passed over the three boys, touching them like the hand of God.
As if telling them that everything was all right.
“I should get going. We’ll see each other at the Academy anyway.”
“No.”
Ricart shook his head.
Neither Volka nor Boribori had expected him to disagree, and both looked at him.
“We’ll see each other everywhere, not just at the Academy. We’re friends forever.”
Ricart pointed at the awkwardly embroidered violet on the clothing.
The other two boys smiled as well.
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, Boribori spoke.
“By the way, didn’t we agree not to say things like thank you or sorry to each other?”
Ricart considered several nice things to say, or at least some excuse, then simply gave up.
“Um... It’s okay sometimes, right?”
“Hehehe, yeah.”
“You two should get going. The city gates will close when it gets dark.”
“Okay. You should go too, Volka.”
They each told the other to leave, but no one could bring themselves to take the first step.
They could watch their friend leave, but they did not want to be the one leaving as a friend.
For some reason, that was just how it felt.
Spring flowers bloomed in abundance across the field, like a garden in heaven.
Purple violets swayed gently in the wind.
Chapter 5: Not Comrades-in-Arms, Just Friends. End.
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