WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 21

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“First off, dumbasses can’t handle mana.”

The meditation professor opened with an extremely definitive statement.

Irritation showed on his face. He did not seem convinced that he should be teaching this class at all. Perhaps that was why his tone was so aggressive.

Quite a few students sat in the tiered lecture hall, including Ricart, who did not usually attend classes.

Meditation classes were only held a few times a year. The Academy knew from experience that those who could sense mana naturally felt it quickly, while those who could not would never manage it, no matter how hard they tried.

“When it comes to handling mana, it doesn’t matter whether you’re a boy or a girl, a noble or a bastard, handsome or ugly, tall or short. None of that crap matters. But if you’re too stupid to understand even basic words, there’s no hope for you, so you don’t need to attend my class.”

This was an age when the right to education was hardly guaranteed. No, there was practically no educational system to begin with, so many children lacked even a basic vocabulary.

They were generally good at physical activities, but most could not stand sitting still and listening to a one-sided lesson.

They would rather climb up and down cliffside stairs a hundred times a day than endure a one-hour class while sitting still.

Sure enough, the hundred or so students in the lecture hall all wore obviously vacant expressions. Anyone could see that they wanted to leave immediately.

Seeing that only made the professor’s already furrowed face crease further.

“The ones who can do it will manage quickly, and the ones who can’t never will, so there’s no need to drag this out or hold several classes. I’ll only say this once today. Do you understand?”

“Yes!”

The students looked stupid, but their answer was loud. Then again, there was no proper curriculum. The professor could do whatever he wanted.

“First, get as comfortable as possible. You can sit or lie down. Spread out. Give each other plenty of room.”

The students did as they were told, as did Ricart and Boribori. Ricart leaned back, half lying down.

“Close your eyes. Do not fall asleep. Close your eyes and imagine shutting off all your senses, even the sounds and smells around you. Focus only on my voice. We begin now. Take a deep breath in, then let it out. Feel the air entering your body. Then slowly even out your breathing. Rest completely.”

As they followed his instructions, the students soon began to feel sleepy. Light streamed through the many arrow-slit windows, and the weather had grown fairly warm, making them drowsy.

The professor already knew that eighty percent of them would fall asleep. It hurt his pride every time he taught this class, but it was still a kind of assignment, so he did it reluctantly.

“From now on, do not think about anything. But you won’t be able to. Thoughts will keep rising. Let them be. Then observe where those thoughts begin. Keep observing. Even so, you probably won’t find their starting point. This takes practice. If you keep at it, you’ll realize that the beginning of a thought is empty. There’s nothing there. Now comes the important part. Imagine filling that empty place with your breath. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale... Most of the breath enters and leaves, but breathe as though you are leaving a little behind. Let what remains travel through your veins, linger in your muscles, gather in your bones, then travel through your veins again. Repeat that over and over.”

It was the sort of meditation that sounded simple but was difficult to do. What was supposed to remain? Breath? Was that even possible? It was hard enough just to understand.

Even though he did not fully understand, Ricart followed the professor’s instructions.

He tried to observe the place where thoughts began, or perhaps what came before that. He tried to feel each inhalation and exhalation as fully as possible, imagining his breath moving through his blood vessels.

Then, at some point, the professor’s voice gradually faded until he could no longer hear it at all. Nor could he hear the students snoring around him.

It felt as though he had gone underwater. Should he go deeper? How much deeper? Was there an end? What if he could not come back out?

It was a strange experience, feeling comfort and fear at the same time.

Sinking. Sinking. No, was he slowly falling? Or rising? Which way was up, and which was down?

Then suddenly, stars bloomed profusely in the middle of the abyss. Ricart found himself standing in the fields of Haiden.

A short distance away sat Ricky, the same age Ricart was now, looking up at a night sky filled with starlight.

Looking at that pitiful back, an unknown emotion rose in him, and tears filled his eyes.

A time when he wished for nothing, knew no boredom, knew neither happiness nor unhappiness.

Right. I had a time like that. Didn’t I really need parents? Why did I need familial affection? Wasn’t love simply another name for the cruelest curse?

But how had he ended up suffering such terrible pain, sorrow, and betrayal? What had he done wrong? Who could save whom? Wasn’t that Ricky the most pitiful being of all?

As thoughts like a demon’s whisper continued, emotions beyond his control began to churn on their own. Grievance, resentment, cursed disappointment, and despair.

All kinds of emotions welled up in Ricart until the tears in his eyes finally streamed down his face.

Then the night sky moved, and the stars trembled. At the same time, a declaration of war against the world and the most destructive spell came to mind.

...I don’t know what’s what anymore. Let them all die.

At that moment, Ricky, who had been looking up at the night sky where star-flowers bloomed, turned to look at him. He spoke calmly.

“It’s all in the past, Ricky. Pain isn’t tormenting you. You’re the one holding on to pain.”

At those words, the boiling emotions cooled as if they had been a lie, and all his strength seemed to drain away. It was closer to emptiness than salvation.

Then someone pulled Ricart up from the abyss.

“Ricky. Ricky.”

Ricart felt his body being shaken, and his hearing returned. When he opened his eyes, the lecture hall was pitch-black. The sun had set before he knew it.

It was dark everywhere, but his eyes had already adjusted, and he could see the surroundings by the moonlight coming through the windows.

“Ricky, if you sleep somewhere cold, your mouth will go crooked. Let’s go sleep in the dormitory.”

Boribori spoke.

“I was asleep?”

Only a moment seemed to have passed, but several hours had gone by in reality. Ricart was briefly confused.

“Yeah. You were sleeping so soundly that I waited until now, but you just wouldn’t wake up, so I shook you. Were you really tired?”

“Not really...”

Then snoring sounded behind him. Volka was asleep with his arms crossed, his back against the wall. He had not attended class today, yet he was here. When had he arrived?

Krrrgh! Fwooo... Krrrgh! Fwooo...

“Looks like someone else is the tired one. By the way, what happened in class?”

“Most of the kids fell asleep. Then he explained a little about something called Mana Drive, and that was it.”

Ricart stood there blankly for a moment. His sense of reality returned, and he gradually felt steady again.

Memories of Stormhertz, the things he had experienced on the road, and everything that had happened since coming here flashed through his mind and settled into his identity.

“...So. Did you feel it at all? This mana thing?”

“Yeah.”

Boribori answered so easily that Ricart’s eyes widened. I don’t think I felt anything.

“Really? You’re not lying?”

“Yeah. You just breathe and imagine it. The professor said he’d never seen someone sense it as quickly as I did.”

If the professor had acknowledged it, it had to be real. Ricart could not feel anything right now. Did he need more time? He was not particularly obsessed with mana, but he was still a little disappointed.

“He said I should keep meditating and not neglect my training. Sensing mana is only the beginning, and Mana Drive is about accumulating it and putting it to use. He said not to get arrogant either.”

The professor might speak harshly, but it seemed he taught properly.

“Did anyone else besides you sense mana?”

“The students high in the pecking order already knew how, so besides them, no one did. Just me. Can you feel anything, Ricky?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”

Boribori smiled faintly.

“It’s okay. There’s no need to rush.”

“Yeah, but...”

Ricart woke Volka, who was still snoring.

“Volka. Volka, wake up.”

Krrrgh! Huh! Urk! What? Uh... Smack, smack...

Volka jerked awake, his eyes half unfocused as he smacked his lips. He must have been sleeping deeply even in that position.

“Volka, you said you had something to tell Ricky.”

Boribori spoke.

“Um... yeah. Right.”

“What is it?”

“Well, Mr. Dunkel says he needs some kids. Capable ones. So I was going to ask you, Ricky.”

“Why does he need them?”

“Some job came into the guild, and I guess they’re short on people. You haven’t been at the Academy long, but you’re the strongest. And you’ve got some money, too.”

Having money meant being able to get equipment. The guild did not provide equipment to adventurers or students.

Everyone had to buy their own equipment with their own money. In fact, the military was the same.

That was the kind of age it was. You had to buy your own equipment before going out to risk your life in battle. But that also came with a certain social standing.

Of course, the guild sometimes loaned money to its adventurers, but that was not a good option. Borrow the wrong money, and your life could become a mess. The guild was not a charity.

“What’s the job?”

“I think he said something about deserters. Seems like it came from a mercenary company. Maybe it isn’t a situation they can handle themselves.”

Desertion was one of the crimes punished most harshly by armies everywhere, throughout all ages.

Even so, it happened very often. Lives were at risk, but battlefields held many hardships that were truly unbearable for any human being.

Especially after a defeat, desertions could occur beyond control, sometimes to the point that even an emperor or king could not contain them.

Ricart knew that well from experience.

“Is it dangerous?”

“Is there any job that isn’t dangerous?”

Ricart remembered what Arno had said before. Academy students were sent into competition between guilds, and they died.

“The reward is generous, and they said it’ll count toward our rank after graduation. If we complete the job, they’ll consider us intermediate rank. If we perform especially well, they’ll count us as upper rank.”

“If we survive.”

“Yeah. If we survive. Are you doing it?”

Ricart considered it for a moment. Would he do it or not? It did not take long for him to conclude that he should.

After all, no matter how long he waited, it did not seem likely that a professor would ever come to teach ancient script. He had even begged old man Dunkel, but Dunkel could not possibly have the authority to appoint a professor.

Dunkel was the only person Ricart knew who was connected to the real headquarters, so there was nothing he could do as a student.

That left only one path: become Special Rank, take the final examination, and gain access to the Codex. He was not desperate for it yet, but he saw no harm in raising his rank.

“I’ll do it.”

“Should I come too?”

Boribori asked the moment Ricart answered.

“No. You’re staying.”

Ricart was firm.

Mana or whatever else was only powerful when backed by basic skill. Boribori still did not even have a place in the pecking order. What would Boribori do there, carry their luggage?

Even if Boribori had an innate gift for sensing mana, what did it mean if Boribori could not fight? In the end, both had to be developed together to be useful.

This was not yet an age where techniques for handling mana had advanced so far. It had only recently taken its first steps toward the star called Sword Master.

Volka roughly ruffled Boribori’s dejected hair.

“Hey, why are you looking so down again? I still can’t sense mana either. Instead of learning from Ricky, how about attending some classes? You need to compete with people around your level to improve.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s go. It’s cold. Is this place cold, or is the weather still cold? Oh, right. The Ice Gang is taking part too. Just so you know.”

Volka stood. Ricart and Boribori rose as well, and they left the dark lecture hall.

Before leaving, Ricart suddenly looked back. For some reason, he felt as though someone might be sitting there. But only faint moonlight rested within the deep darkness. There was no one there.

The next day, Ricart headed into the city. The sky had been overcast since morning, and eventually it began to rain. He pulled up the hood of his cloak and walked through the pattering rain.

Fortunately, although the road was wet, it was not very muddy. The ground was firm.

The rain was not particularly heavy, but the wind blew fiercely. His hood kept getting blown off, so he stopped wearing it.

After walking for about five hours, he reached the guild headquarters and dried his wet hair and body as best he could beside the fireplace.

Then he headed to the smithy. Molty was working hard as usual and came over after recognizing Ricart.

“What?”

“I want to buy a sword.”

Ricart took out his coin pouch and opened it. There were one or two gold coins and more than ten silver coins. It was what remained after he had spent money here and there while living.

“Wait a moment.”

Molty left Ricart and approached the blacksmith sharpening a sword on a grinding wheel. Molty said something while pointing in Ricart’s direction, apparently explaining why Ricart was there.

The blacksmith, whose thick, curly beard covered his face, turned and stared at Ricart. When he rose from his seat, he proved to be enormous, with broad shoulders. His sheer build looked like a powerful weapon.

Without saying a word, he gestured for Ricart to follow. Ricart followed him into a storage building attached to the smithy.

It was a cool place, with several long wooden cases arranged neatly inside. The sound of rain pattering against the roof was pleasant.

The blacksmith opened the cases one by one. Smooth swords without scabbards lay inside, in various widths and lengths.

“Choose what you want.”

Ricart looked between the blacksmith and the swords, then examined them as instructed. He stopped before a longsword that looked somewhat too long and large for him.

Forged with the Nords’ distinctive techniques, a faint wave pattern ran along the blade. The blade root, called the ricasso, was wrapped in leather so it could be gripped and used like a short spear when needed.

“This one. May I touch it?”

The blacksmith nodded silently. Ricart lifted the sword and checked its balance, the thickness of its blade, and whether its edge was straight.

It was a masterpiece without a single flaw to find. Still, it did feel a little heavy.

But perhaps because he had used greatswords in his previous life, this one actually felt more familiar in his hand.

The blacksmith watched Ricart examine the sword with an indifferent expression, but strangely enough, Ricart seemed to suit the sword. It felt like watching a renowned master inspect a blade.

“I’ll take this one. How much is it?”

Ricart asked, taking out his coin pouch. In truth, he did not have nearly enough money.

A weapon made from high-quality iron by a skilled Nord blacksmith cost at least five gold coins, and its price would rise several times over if taken to another region.

The sword Ricart had chosen, in particular, was made of meteoric iron, famous for being the most expensive metal humans could wield.

In other words, it was not something he could buy for a few gold coins. It was the kind of item that had to be won at auction.

Fortunately, the blacksmith shook his head.

“A hero needs a weapon worthy of him. Let the glorious deeds you accomplish from now on be the price.”

Ricart’s eyes widened at the word hero. What was that supposed to mean?

“A hero? Me?”

“I heard from Molty. You’re the one who risked your life to duel those little thugs.”

He seemed to mean when Ricart had fought the students high in the pecking order over the tribute payment.

Before Ricart subdued them, they had caused trouble all over the place, even if they did not openly run wild.

They were too afraid of the Nords to bother them, so they extorted money from iron ore suppliers, cheated pimps, and drank on credit at taverns without paying.

They caused trouble everywhere, not just by bullying children and taking their money.

But all of that had disappeared, so not only the Academy students but also the city’s merchants and tradespeople owed Ricart something in the end.

Had he not become a hero by defeating such villains? Ricart himself, however, only felt awkward.

So he smiled sheepishly.

“They were such small fry that I wasn’t really risking my life.”

The blacksmith took the sword, slid it into a scabbard, adjusted its leather strap, and handed it back to Ricart.

“Anyway. Take it.”

That was how Ricart got the sword for free. Though if the blacksmith considered himself indebted, perhaps it was not truly free.

“Thank you.”

Ricart did not forget to thank him. He thanked Molty as well before leaving the smithy. The sword was too long and heavy to wear at his waist, so he slung it over one shoulder.

Still, the word hero felt so awkward that he was more embarrassed than he had expected.

People back home say I’m gentle and kind, but I’m not really such a good person.

Ricart walked through the pattering rain. Yet even being rained on did not feel particularly unpleasant.

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