WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 2

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Within a single empire stood five kingdoms, four merchant republics, and hundreds of minor territories and noble houses.

Among those hundreds of noble houses, the House of Calderbern traced its roots to the royal family of Adelorne. Its founding ancestor, who established the branch, was the heroic knight Caldebert. The family name meant they were his descendants.

Caldebert had distinguished himself in Fernland and received land from the emperor. A hundred years had passed since then.

That also meant that the Empire's first Sword Master had appeared a hundred years ago.

They said that killing a few people only made one a murderer, killing hundreds made one a hero, killing thousands made one a conqueror, and killing beyond that made one a god.

In an age when thunder and lightning from the sky, floods that ruined people's homes, and all such things were considered divine will, the first Sword Master was seen as a kind of natural disaster or a warning from some god.

That was how people remembered that past of steel and blood: as divine judgment, punishment, and condemnation upon sinners of every rank.

And people believed that he would surely return someday. Whether he would bring salvation or destruction when he did, no one knew.

Yet unlike ignorant commoners, those in power, such as emperors and kings, seemed to view that past differently.

They did not see the first Sword Master as a messenger of salvation or the end. They saw him as a strategic weapon.

If only they could possess that overwhelming strength. If it became theirs...

Some things had to change with the times, but some values were worth preserving.

Heavy cavalry remained powerful on the battlefield, and the duties of knights had not yet ended.

Nobles had to defend their territories and fulfill their military service according to their contracts with their lieges.

To uphold one's honor as a noble meant not avoiding a fight. One could not yield to unjust threats and had to regard courage as the greatest virtue, even at the cost of one's life.

Many still lived by such values. It was an age when being a noble also meant being a warrior.

The Calderbern family had seen its lands divided from generation to generation. At the time, partible inheritance had been customary law.

Now, with not even a tiny scrap of land left to divide, a branch of the Calderbern family had settled on a small estate called Stormhertz.

It was around the time when the sweltering summer had passed and the weather was beginning to turn chilly. The harvested fields lay fallow, with large piles of dry straw left scattered here and there.

But Lord Abelich still had work to do. The Calderbern residence in Stormhertz was bustling from early morning despite the chill in the air.

The lord's attendants moved about gathering this and that. Judging by their equipment, they seemed to be preparing for a hunt. Nets, crossbows, excited hunting dogs panting eagerly, and boar spears.

Abelich, lord of Stormhertz, sat atop the fine brown warhorse that was the family's greatest asset and looked over his attendants as they prepared. Then he realized something important was missing.

“Where's Ricky? Where is Ricky?”

“He's probably holed up somewhere again, staring into space.”

His eldest son, wearing tough leather armor, answered listlessly beside his father.

“Boar hunting is both a duty and an important event for our family. Ricky is ten now. He must take part. Find him.”

Hunting was not simply a leisure activity for nobles. Boars in particular ruined fields and dug up graves, making them creatures that had to be eliminated.

A healthy adult man could easily chase away a stray goblin separated from its group, and wolves had enough sense to flee far away if frightened. Boars were different. Their recklessness would not stop unless they were killed.

And in a noble household, turning ten meant that boys and girls began to be raised separately in earnest.

Before then, they were simply raised as children. From the age of ten, their hair and clothing began to distinguish boys from girls, while boys took part in hunts or trained in martial arts.

It was an age when people believed that mothers raised boys, fathers raised men, and fate raised warriors.

After receiving the order from his father, the eldest son naturally looked at his second brother. His gaze held an unspoken command.

You go.

But his brother deliberately avoided that gaze as though he had not noticed it. The sight made Graut, the eldest, twitch an eyebrow.

“Hey.”

“Father ordered you.”

“And I'm ordering you.”

“Why should I listen?”

“Because I'm the eldest, and you're the second.”

Whether one was born first or second was not something effort could change. Nor was it something one chose. Yet there was no escaping that strict constraint.

Bilter, the second son, was fourteen and would become an adult next year. Like most boys nearing adulthood, he had become somewhat more rebellious as time passed.

The three brothers had once been close, but no one knew when or why their relationship had gone wrong.

“I'll leave this damned house on my own someday.”

Bilter spoke loudly enough for his father and brother to hear, then started walking.

His taciturn father ignored him as though he had heard nothing. His brother frowned, while the other attendants merely smiled as if they found him cute.

But Bilter could not find his youngest brother anywhere, no matter how thoroughly he searched the watchtower attached to the residence, the barn, and every other place. He even asked his sister-in-law, whom he did not particularly want to see, but she did not know either.

“Could he be in the underground crypt? He may still miss his mother.”

His sister-in-law spoke as she embroidered the edge of a cloak alongside a young maid. The lady of the house had died of a fever two years ago.

“If he isn't there either, then he probably followed Mother.”

“Please don't say things like that. He's only ten. You should take good care of him, young master. I'll help too. By the way, do I really not need to go out?”

“Father told you to stay somewhere warm. Though he's not worried about you. He's worried entirely about the baby in your belly.”

Even when something was not wrong, it could still be unpleasant to hear. Bilter always spoke that way, crookedly, with thorns in every word.

Still, despite being young herself, his sister-in-law simply laughed it off.

That was what Bilter hated. Everyone treated him like a child.

Or perhaps the source of his irritation was that his home was being taken from him. This family, his family, would become his brother's. There was no place for a second son.

Bilter left the room that had once been his mother's bedroom and now belonged to his sister-in-law. Then, as she had said, he headed down to the underground crypt.

From the moment he descended the stairs, the eerie air unique to underground places brushed against the back of his neck. By the time he reached the bottom, he was surrounded by utter darkness.

Yet far away, there was a faint glow, like a frail candle lit in the middle of the underworld.

Beneath a torch hanging on the wall stood his youngest brother. The boy was looking at something. He seemed to be standing at the boundary between the world of the living and the dead.

“Ricky!”

Bilter's shout echoed through the underground chamber. His younger brother, whose baby fat had not yet faded, turned toward him.

He was Ricart, the third son of the Calderbern family, with blond hair and hazel eyes. Ricky was his nickname.

Bilter approached his brother. The boy's eyes, looking steadily up at him, could appear green, blue, or brown depending on the angle of the light. Now, under the torchlight, they looked bluish with a reddish tint.

“What are you doing down here? Don't you know there's a hunt today?”

“Nothing. I just came down. Today is the anniversary of Mother's death.”

Before Ricart stood a stone sarcophagus with the deceased's likeness carved into its lid. It was their mother's coffin.

“You remember things like that? You're ten now. Shouldn't you accept it calmly? And shouldn't you start worrying about your future?”

Ten was not an age when one could remain only a child. It was when children began proper knightly instruction or were expected to fulfill one person's role. For commoners, it was harsher still.

At his brother's rebuke, Ricart lowered his gaze and fell silent. Bilter felt guilty for no reason, and his heart softened.

Ricart spoke.

“Growing up in Mother's arms feels like already having everything. So I don't really worry about the future.”

Bilter could not understand what his brother was talking about.

“...I really can't tell whether you're a little old man or just simple. Everyone's waiting outside. Come on.”

Bilter roughly ruffled his brother's hair and took his hand.

“Okay.”

Led by his brother's hand, Ricart left the underground crypt as though stepping away from the boundary of the underworld. When they climbed the stairs, the deep navy light of early morning wrapped around them.

When they entered the courtyard, the people who had already finished preparing were waiting for them.

“You took this long because you couldn't find one child?”

Graut, the eldest brother, threw out the unpleasant remark.

“Then you should've gone to find him.”

“You really are asking for it.”

Lately, the eldest and second sons bickered whenever their eyes met. Abelich quickly put a stop to them.

“Enough. Ricky, stay beside Billy. This is your first hunt, so just watch from a distance. Butch, look after the two boys.”

“Yes, my lord.”

After giving those brief instructions, Abelich dug in his spurs and rode out of the courtyard alone. The splendid feather in his hunting cap whipped harshly in the wind.

Clop, clop.

The sound quickly faded into the distance.

The rest followed on foot. Lord Abelich soon passed over a hill and disappeared from sight, but that was no concern, since they knew where to gather.

Those summoned for the hunt included around fifteen able-bodied men from the village and several people much like retainers.

They were only like retainers because they received no separate wages, only exemption from taxes. They were a kind of independent farmer.

One family's connection dated back to the great-grandfather's time, while the others' dated back to their grandfathers' days.

It was a poor estate, so it relied more on loyalty than money. Several households were gathered around the lord's family. On a larger scale, it was a miniature of feudal society with the emperor at its peak.

When war broke out, the lord served as both knight and officer, the retainers served as noncommissioned officers, and everyone else acted as soldiers of a kind. In other words, they were the smallest unit in battle.

And hunting was also combat training. A large crowd could not catch prey merely by rushing at it together.

They had to move in an organized manner, and to do so, they needed to work in sync regularly.

Tracking, driving, and finishing the prey were all done across wide spaces where they could not see one another. They had to understand the direction sounds came from and know that a particular person would act in a certain way.

It was not something learned in a day or two. Fathers taught it to sons over generations, and sons taught it again to grandsons. It was combat training as well as practical field instruction.

Ricart was taking part in such field instruction for the first time. Even so, the boy showed none of the excitement or fear one might expect. As usual, he was calm.

Those carrying various pieces of equipment walked ahead, while Ricart followed Butch with Bilter.

It was the slack season. The air was somewhat chilly, and not only the fields but the grass across the plains was turning yellow and dry. The trees had become bright with autumn leaves.

“Ricky, you've seen a boar before, right?”

Butch asked. Butch was the son of one of the retainer-like men. He had grown up in the village alongside the lord's sons since childhood, and they were close.

Several boar spears rested on his shoulder. Their long, broad spearheads were almost as large as a person's face. Anything less could not pierce a boar's tough hide.

“I don't know. Have I?”

“Wasn't it about two years ago? Weren't you there?”

“He was staying by his mother's side because she was sick.”

Bilter corrected Butch's faulty memory.

“Oh, right. You don't need to be so nervous, Ricky. All you have to do is set up camp and live there for a while. Three days if it's short, maybe two weeks if it's long. You'll probably just see a dead boar. It isn't dangerous.”

Ricart only smiled faintly at being told not to be so nervous.

“When I saw one before, it was quiet. I don't know why adults scare us for no reason by saying it's dangerous.”

Bilter swept at the grass in the fields with the stick in his hand and spoke in his usual grumbling tone.

“It is dangerous. Animals know their lives are precious too. Once they start going wild, they're really dangerous.”

“Have you ever seen a boar go wild, Butch?”

Bilter asked.

“No. I've never seen one either. But Lian's father was gored to death by a boar. You two wouldn't know. I was young then.”

“Well, people die from all sorts of things. I'll probably die someday too.”

His mother, Lian's father. Death was close in this world. Disease, unforeseen accidents, war, and hunger.

Stormhertz was at least in better shape when it came to food. It was not abundant, but the people currently living there could manage to feed themselves, if only barely.

“By the way, are you practicing with a sword, Billy?”

“No. I don't want to go into battle. I'm not even the eldest. Why should I?”

“Still, wouldn't it be good to practice separately? It isn't something you can learn just because you want to. Even for self-defense... All right, I won't lecture you. Then have you thought about what you'll do? When the young master becomes lord...”

“What happens when my brother becomes lord? Are you saying I'll get thrown out of here?”

“Well, these days, they don't divide property equally anymore. Why not swallow your pride and ask for some support while you still can?”

“I don't want to have to ask my brother for anything.”

“...You're something else.”

In the past, the principle had been to divide land and property equally among one's children, but that was no longer the case. As a family's strength weakened through division, a custom of concentrating inheritance in the eldest son was taking root.

As a result, those not born as the legitimate eldest heir often led difficult lives. Noble families commonly sent sons other than the legitimate eldest heir early to places such as monasteries or knightly orders.

Brothers in a noble family could be one's strongest allies or one's worst political rivals, and if the line of succession was unstable, retainers and vassals could waver. A split into factions over supreme authority had to be avoided at all costs.

Still, some worked hard and rose to success as bishops or abbots.

Knightly orders were honorable, but dangerous and difficult in many ways. Their members endured disciplined communal lives, exhausting training, and combat. Above all, nobles received no special treatment there.

In other words, anyone not born the legitimate eldest heir had to solve the matter of making a living alone. Caldebert, the founder of the Calderbern family, had risen through his own efforts as well.

Bilter was fourteen and had spent a fairly long time growing up with his family. But his brother had taken a wife and would soon have a child, so it was time for Bilter to start finding his own way.

If the baby were a daughter, might Bilter be able to remain at home a little longer? Or if the baby died at birth?

They were all useless thoughts. He had reached the proper age, so he would have to leave soon either way.

Bilter could not help feeling conflicted lately. He needed to prepare himself to live on his own now.

In the midst of that, there was someone in a position similar to his. His younger brother Ricart.

Perhaps because he was still too young to understand, Ricart wore his usual indifferent expression when Bilter looked back at him. He was Bilter's younger brother, sometimes like a little old man, odd, gentle, and kind.

The boy walked while looking at the ground, then up at the bright blue sky, then off into the distance... He seemed to have no thoughts at all. It hurt, but should Bilter sharply remind him of reality?

As they walked, Ricart looked into the distance, raised his hand, and pointed.

“Isn't that a boar?”

Butch and Bilter turned their heads at the same time to look where Ricart was pointing. Far away, near the edge of the forest, a boar was running wildly.

“Oh? It is.”

Lord Abelich was chasing it on horseback. But something was strange. The boar gradually turned, then began running toward them.

At first, the three merely stared because it was so far away. But once they realized it was coming toward them, Butch and Bilter's hair stood on end, and their minds went blank.

The situation suddenly became urgent. They heard hunting dogs, freed from their handlers, barking frantically.

Woof! Woof!

“Butch! Butch! Protect the young masters!”

Butch's father, one of the people walking ahead, hurried back as he shouted. Protect them? How?

“Uh...”

The boar came closer and closer. They could not tell from far away, but it was enormous. Its shoulder seemed higher than Ricart was tall. And it was fast.

The startled adults threw their spears from far away, but they only cut through empty air.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

“Butch! Butch!”

Butch heard his father's voice as though it came from far away. He simply froze in place. Bilter was the same.

Then someone snatched one of the spears Butch carried and shoved him hard. Butch fell sideways into the dry grass.

Ricky came into view.

The child, whose baby fat had not yet faded, held the spear in reverse, braced its shaft against his shoulder, and aimed its point at the charging boar.

Then he spread his legs wide and shifted his center of gravity onto his forward foot as though he might fall forward.

Before anyone could say a word, the boar, as large as a house, crashed into the child.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Thump!

Ricart flew far backward and rolled across the grass. Butch and Bilter, standing right beside him, could only stare blankly without knowing what had happened.

“Ricky! Ricky!”

Lord Abelich hurried toward the fallen Ricart.

He quickly dismounted and examined his third son. To his surprise, the young boy had not lost consciousness. He lay in the yellow, dried grass and looked up at the sky. His palms were torn, and blood flowed from them.

Abelich's heart had dropped so sharply that he pulled Ricart into his arms without realizing it.

“M-My lord. My lord.”

Someone called from behind him. Abelich turned his head instinctively.

There lay the boar's corpse, dead with a spear driven precisely between its eyes.

Huh?

No one spoke. Only the sound of wind and barking dogs could be heard across the field.

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